Recipe for Success
by TheMsMeep
Summary: So what if his plan is clipped from a ladies' magazine? Jack Spicer, Evil Boy Genius, can totally make this work! Chack.
1. The Plan

Jack was ignoring Chase.

He didn't want to, and his need to pay homage to Evil's most powerful warrior was growing by the minute. But he had a plan now, desperate and clipped from a magazine though it was.

He touched the list rolled up in his pocket, assuring himself it was still there. That scrap of paper was the only thing keeping him from heading for Chase at a dead run. It was his master stroke, the key to finally winning some long-deserved recognition from his idol.

It also looked a lot like a cookie recipe.

He'd found it in one of the old magazines his mother left around. After reading one on a deadly dull day when there was nothing else to do, he'd been surprised to find himself hooked. Teenage boys really shouldn't be that interested in a magazine targeted at middle-aged women, but since when had he been normal?

This piece had caught his eye right away, bright headline echoing his innermost thoughts: **How To Catch Any Man's Attention- And Keep It**. According to the article, it took an old-time "recipe" for man catching and revamped it, explaining in modern terms how to attract the attention of even the most stubborn of males.

The recipe went thusly:

_A pound of Patience_

_A cup of Indifference_

_A sprinkling of Spice_

_A pinch of Jealousy_

_A spoonful of Lust_

The article below it explained each "ingredient" and how to use it in daily flirtation.

_Be patient! Men don't like a woman who's too pushy, so don't let your enthusiasm make you act like a stalker. If it's meant to be, he'll come to you- eventually._

_Be indifferent. Men like a challenge, so don't make it too easy for him! Act a little coy, be a little shy, or just ignore him for awhile. Running away will bring out his predator instincts._

_Spice up your life! Do something that catches his attention, like changing your hair color, or just buy a hot new outfit. Knowing there's more to you then the same old thing will spark his interest._

_Make him jealous! Flaunt your new look with another man. Even if it's just a friend, it will burn him up that someone else has your attention._

_You know what this means. Make him want you! Don't act skanky, but let him get a glimpse of your inner vixen. He's guaranteed to come begging for more!_

Jack knew it was kind of weird to follow advice intended to get women laid, but there were no handy-dandy rule books designed for getting an evil dragon warlord to make you his apprentice. This was the closest thing, and with a little twisting, he hoped it would help him attract Chase's attention.

Which led to Jack's current situation. He was patiently avoiding his evil icon, ignoring him at Showdowns and staying well away from Chase's home. He hadn't spoken to the man in weeks, and had barely even seen him. It was driving him more than a little crazy, and he'd started taking a hit-and-run approach to grabbing shen-gong-wu, ensuring that he'd spend as little time in Chase's presence as possible.

It was actually helping him nab the wu; less time spent boasting and spouting evil monologues led to better chances of actually getting to it, as well as earning him less taunting and fewer beatings. He had even won a recent Showdown, and come surprisingly close to kicking butt in two other encounters with the monks.

Aside from that, though, he couldn't tell if his plan was working or not. It was time to kick it up a notch.

Jack spread his arms to the sky as he announced to no one in particular "Jack Spicer, Evil Boy Genius, is beginning Phase 2 of his dastardly plan!" He threw back his head and gave a long, cackling evil laugh.

8

Chase sipped idly at his Lao Mang Long. One foot clawed restlessly at the air, signifying great agitation in the usually controlled Prince of Evil. There was something . . . missing. An aura of great stillness hung over his lair. It was a stifling, oppressive silence, and it irked him.

He considered going out to bait the monks, but it was beneath him to annoy them merely for the purpose of amusement; there were no shen-gong-wu active currently, and they possessed nothing he truly wanted to steal. Unlike that idiot Spicer, he broke into the Xiaolin vaults only when he had reason to.

Spicer.

By all the gods, that was what vexed him! That annoying worm hadn't been to the mountain in months. What was more, he had given up his moronically adoring behavior, going so far as to ignore Chase when they met.

His foot ceased its tapping as a thought struck him. Had Jack finally outgrown his childish adoration? It would explain his actions, and his conduct at recent Showdowns certainly hinted at the onset of some level of maturity. Telling himself he was pleased at the prospect of no longer having to deal with Jack Spicer, Chase ignored the small part of him that wondered why the quiet made him so agitated then.

He rose smoothly and headed for the garden, finishing his soup and calling a few of his warriors telepathically as he did so. Sparring would break the monotony nicely, and add some noise to his surroundings.

Peaceful or not, it was just too damn quiet.

8

It was much easier, Jack found, to declare Phase 2 than to actually start it. He had decided to take the third step literally, because there really wasn't much else he could change that Chase would notice. All his attempts to impress the man in the past had failed miserably.

He was unwilling to change his hair color, however. It made an in-your-face statement, and besides, it matched his eyes. He didn't really want to get a new look, either. His black trench coat and pants were a classic evil style, and his goggles were just too cool.

But he had to do something. Jack imagined Chase's rich voice filled with approval as he told Jack what a fine specimen of Heylin he had become. He could almost hear those dark, powerful tones speaking the words he yearned to hear.

"I want you, Jack. I want you to serve under me, to learn from me- and in time, to rule the world at my side."

Maybe Chase would touch him then, not with the usual intent to hurt, but in a casual way. Maybe even affectionately, like a friend.

Jack derailed that train of thought before it could get too weird. He idolized Chase, and he was desperate to learn from the man, but he knew better than to think Chase would offer him friendship. He shook himself out of his reverie, returning to the task at hand. What to change, what to change . . . he looked down at himself and made his decision. Clothes were considerably less permanent than hair, and drastic change required some measure of sacrifice.

Chase was worth it.

8

Chase hummed in contentment as he headed for the stone pool, the adjoining waterfall of which served him as a shower. He had just thoroughly trounced three of his warriors working in tandem, and a fourth in single combat. It was hardly a difficult feat, for him, but it made him cheerful nonetheless.

It also distracted him from the absence of Jack Spicer.

8

Jack shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. This had not been one of his better ideas.

And considering all the bad ideas he'd had, that was saying something.

After deciding to change his style, he had gone to his mother, freshly home from yet another vacation. He knew she kept a personal costumier on call, and he didn't want to waste time looking fruitlessly through random clothes if he could help it.

His mother had been thrilled, taking his request to mean that he was finally done with his "creepy little goth phase" as she called it.

"Don't worry dear," she assured him as she swiftly dialed her cell phone. "Bobby does men too, and I know he'd just love the chance to give you a whole new look." She placed her mouth to the phone.

"Bobby, it's about Jack. He's finally coming out of that phase . . . yes, I know darling, I thought so too. But he wants a new look . . . can you darling? How soon? Oh no, that's wonderful! I'll send him right over."

That had been several hours ago, and Jack was now thoroughly regretting his decision. "Bobby" had turned out to be a very enthusiastic blond man who thought Jack needed something trendy and bright to offset "that truly awful complexion, what are you, a vampire?" some colored contacts for his "scary demon-looking, ugh" eyes, and a whole new hair color, "maybe blonde, we do have sooo much more fun- wink wink!"

Although it would definitely have been different, Jack was fairly certain that showing up bottle blonde and wearing pastels was not the best way to gain Chase's attention. He had rejected every outfit the increasingly annoyed clothier had thrown at him, causing Bobby to pout to no end.

After being forced to try on a striped pink button-down shirt that clashed horribly with his hair, Jack finally snapped. He whirled as Bobby returned with an armload of shirts, knocking a mound of brightly colored polos to the floor.

"What don't you get?" He yelled in the surprised man's face. "I'm Jack Spicer, Evil friggin' Boy Genius, and I do not wear pink! I wear black, and red, and . . . evil colors! And I do **not**," he ripped off the pink monstrosity "wear _button-down_ shirts. I want something I can look cool and kick ass in- or at least freaking _move_ in. You got that?"

"Oh my gawd!" Bobby's squeal went several decibels past pain, and Jack was filled with dread as he imagined explaining this little argument to his mother.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me? Here you wanted Queen of the Damned, and I've been giving you Twilight!"

"Huh?" Jack gaped in confusion. Bobby didn't seem mad at him, which was good, but what on earth was the man talking about?

"You're a little young, but that's okay. I was precocious too. Don't you worry- I have a fully stocked collection of club wear. Lots of leather and metal- ooo, maybe even a collar . . ." Bobby hurried off, chattering excitedly, while Jack stood dumbstruck. It sounded like the clothes he was trying on were about to get decidedly more cool.

Or at least, not pastel.

8

Chase Young sat unmoving as the steaming water cascaded down on him, running across his skin like a lover's caress. He had been in the pool for hours, letting his mind drift as he soaked. He filled his thoughts with everything and nothing, peace growing within him as he emptied himself of discordant feelings.

It was a hollow peace, as it had been ever since he lost his soul, but it was peace all the same.

Suddenly he thought of Jack, the memory surfacing with a flash, like a fish in a pond. Chase had sent his cats to bring Spicer to him once, during that fiasco with the giant spiders. When they had, the boy had been wrapped only in a towel, soap bubbles still dripping from his hair as he nattered on about his Saturday bubble bath.

He wondered if Jack still took bubble baths. If he was, perhaps, taking one right now . . .

Chase steered his thoughts to other matters. Bathing or not, the boy was a nuisance- one that was now out of his hair.

Jack looked at himself in the mirror, surveying his outfit uncertainly. It was dark, definitely, and it could certainly work as evil, but it was a little bit . . . revealing.

The pants were a perfectly acceptable black, but they were made of tight-fitting leather that somehow clung to his skin while still allowing him to move freely. The shirt was dark red cotton, with black mesh sleeves reaching from shoulder to wrist where they tucked into his usual gloves, which Bobby had eagerly hailed as "the perfect accessory". His pale skin glimmered between the holes in the mesh, and a sliver showed between the edge of the shirt and pants when he stretched too far. Bobby assured him that this was desirable, and would help show off "that adorably trim figure."

Jack had decided to let Bobby continue to think he was going clubbing, not sure how much of their conversation was going to make it back to his mother. She had never noticed his criminal activities, and probably wouldn't care if she did, but he wasn't about to clue her in to things she might disapprove of. Speaking of which . . . "This outfit is way Eviler, but I don't think mom will like it."

Bobby pursed his lips. "Hmm. You may be right. Ooo, I know!" He giggled in a way that set Jack's teeth on edge as he flounced over to the pile of discarded clothing, grabbing a pair of black jeans and a dark green shirt that Jack had announced inappropriate hours ago. "Just get these as well, wear them home, and we'll wrap those up. Then tonight you can go seduce all the pretty boys you want."

"Pretty . . . boys?" Jack meeped in shock, red eyes growing wide.

"Oh, don't worry dear, your mother hasn't noticed yet, and I won't tell." Bobby tittered "And I don't hit on customers- terrible idea, never works out well."

Jack stood in stunned silence as Bobby briskly removed his current shirt and tugged the other one down over his head. Did Bobby know something he didn't? Did he like men? Did he like. . . Chase?

Jack snapped back to reality as Bobby ran a hand through his hair. "Are you absolutely sure you don't want to do anything else with your look, dear? New boots, to match that outfit maybe? And we can do some wonderful things that will make your hair so much more high impact, without even having to change the color at all. And that makeup has potential, but there are just a few teensy improvements. . ."

Jack couldn't summon the will to protest as Bobby steered him to chair in front of a lighted mirror.


	2. Realization

Jack relaxed under the warm spray, water pounding against sore muscles. It was late, and he should really be in bed, but after a day like today he needed a shower more than he needed sleep.

After coming home with his fake new outfit on, he'd found his mother already gone. A plate of chocolate chip cookies sat on the kitchen counter beside a note.

_Congrats on the new look Jackie, I'm sure it's great. Gone to a party. Bye sweetie! Love, mom._

Jack had sighed as he picked up a cookie and bit into it. He wasn't all that crazy about chocolate chip, but his mother never seemed to remember that, even when he had the heart to mention it. He walked to his bedroom, deciding to try on his new clothes one more time.

After putting them on, Jack had admired himself in the mirror for a good half an hour. He was one hot evil genius, if he did say so himself. It did cause just a little bit of a blush, though, to see how snugly the pants cupped his backside.

All this posing made Jack to wonder what he would look like while actually fighting. This led to him practicing various stances, both normal and outrageous, in the mirror. After a while he moved on to actual kicks and blocks. It was the first time in a long time he had actually practiced, and he was surprised to find that it felt kind of nice.

His clothes gave him a much wider range of motion than his old coat, and his new boots, although steel-toed, were lighter and more comfortable than his old ones.

He'd ended up practicing until he was exhausted, which had taken all of thirty minutes, then tinkering with his robots for hours in a fit of inspiration.

Then he had a pudding cup.

Finally he'd ended up here, hot water spattering down on him as turned the day's events over in his mind. It was still a shock to think that he might actually _like_ Chase, not just as an evil idol, but as a man.

He'd never had a crush on a guy before. Come to think of it, he'd never had a crush on anyone before. Ever since the second grade, long before relationships held any interest for him or his peers, he'd immersed himself in Evil. But the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed.

He'd always been so desperate to touch Chase, even knowing it would earn him only pain, and Chase was certainly handsome enough to make anyone want him. The aristocratic face, mesmerizing bronze eyes, and gorgeous river of ebony hair were enough to captivate anyone, even before they heard that dark, seductive voice or saw the deadly grace with which he moved. Jack wondered what he looked like underneath that armor, and blushed as a thought occurred to him. Did those lovely deep green glints in Chase's hair extend all the way to the hair . . . down there?

Suddenly, he frantically wanted to find out. Years of repressed hormones hit him in a rush as he imagined Chase, graceful body unveiled and dark grin full of lust as he motioned for Jack to join him on a sumptuous bed. He would hurry to the bed, for once not tripping in haste, and Chase would pull him down and then roll on top of him, dominating him as those cruel lips pressed against his own.

Jack leaned against the shower wall, eyes closed in blissful ecstasy as his imagination strained itself to the limits. He pictured Chase touching him, strong hands caressing every inch of his eager body.

Softly, he began running his own hands across his stomach, pretending they belonged to the gorgeous warlord. They quickly dipped lower and he groaned, one hand cupping his balls as he gently stroked his straining erection.

The touch sent fire racing through him, and began rubbing harder, slipping into a frantic rhythm that had him gasping mouthfuls of steamy air. Waves of pleasure washed over him, and he moaned Chase's name as his hips jerked violently against his furiously working hand. The world narrowed to one bright point of pleasure and then exploded, leaving Jack breathless and weak in the wake of his violent orgasm.

Yeah, he definitely had a thing for Chase.

8 8 8 8 8

Chase sat on nothing, legs crossed as he meditated. He was the personification of power at rest as he floated, eyes closed and face serene. Then his lips parted, showing the barest hint of fang as he sensed the approaching presence.

He looked up in annoyance as Wuya poked her head cautiously through the wall. Despite the fact that she had no body for him to injure, the ghostly witch still treated Chase with great respect. If he really wanted to, he could find a magical method to torture her, and they both knew it.

"I trust you have a reason for disturbing me?" His voice was pleasant, smooth, and full of thinly concealed menace. Wuya knew him well enough to understand that he was even less happy about her intrusion than usual.

"I just thought you'd like to know that Jack is up to something."

Chase returned to his former position, closing his eyes as he did so. Truth be told, he was extremely curious to know what Spicer was doing, but he refused to give Wuya the advantage of knowing.

"Been spying again have you, Wuya? I see no reason I should care."

"You should. That monkey has been less idiotic than usual lately. He's almost competent!"

Chase made an amused noise. "And what is the 'almost competent' Jack Spicer doing that could possibly be a threat to me?'

"I don't know!" Wuya's voice was harsh as a crow's caw with frustration. "He was gone all day, and then he came back wearing fashionable clothes and practicing his martial arts. Jack doesn't even know the meaning of the word fashion!"

Chase could care less about clothing, but the training intrigued him. From what he understood, Spicer usually lazed about eating pudding and making implausible plans for world domination. Perhaps he truly was growing up, and into a new dedication to Evil.

He interrupted Wuya, who was still ranting about the miracle it must have taken to make Jack look good. "You've done well. If you find out anything about his actual plans, bring the information to me. Now leave."

Wuya left, a sulky pout on her transparent features. After she was gone, Chase allowed one corner of his mouth to quirk upwards into the tiniest of smiles.

If nothing else, this was certain to bring some interesting developments.


	3. Attraction

A/N: Sorry I took so long with this part; I've been off camping in wild, coyote infested lands that have no internet. Thanks to everyone who reviewed- you fill my days with sunshiny joy! Or something like that. : )

You could have heard a pin drop when the new Jack Spicer descended from the heavens on his heli-pack. His hair (now smooth and lustrous, thanks to Bobby's recommended conditioner) shone in the light of the setting sun that filtered through the tall evergreen trees around them. His new outfit showed off his lithe body off to great advantage. He looked older, sophisticated, and decidedly more attractive- a fact not lost on the wide eyed Kimiko.

His usual swirling goggles were nowhere in sight, replaced by a small, discreet pair made of amber glass. His eyeliner was much thinner and more skillfully applied than usual. Instead of giving the impression that Jack had been attacked by a rabid black crayon, it actually looked rather alluring.

Ignoring the staring monks, he zoomed straight by them, headed for the Bear Baton. It was held in the mouth of a realistically carved bear perched at the top of a tall totem pole. Several bots followed him, ready to engage and distract the Xiaolin, but they stood stunned as he flew past. Jack grabbed the Bear Baton deftly, sliding it from between the teeth of the wooden totem.

He turned and hovered for a moment, giving the monks an ironic salute. "Later losers!" he called. The he zoomed away, a smile on his face and the Bear Baton held tightly in one hand.

This was just too easy.

8 8 8 8 8

A long moment of silence ensued before Raimundo spoke.

"Dudes- was that Jack?" he asked with incredulity in his voice.

"It certainly did look like the varmint," Clay replied, sounding a little doubtful, "but he seemed a darn sight more . . . somethin'."

"Hot?" Omi piped up.

Raimundo gave him an odd look. "I think you mean cool, Omi. And as much I hate to say it, I think you're right. Jack actually looked kind of cool."

"Oh yes, that is what I meant. Very low in temperature." Thankfully for him, Raimundo didn't notice the blush staining Omi's cheeks.

Kimiko, the most insightful member of the group, might have noticed the blush and recognized it for what it was had she not been too busy staring off into the sunset, straining for a last glimpse of Jack.

She thought he was pretty hot too.

8 8 8 8 8

From his position behind a nearby tree, Jack listened and smirked. As soon as he was safely out of sight, which hadn't taken long in the dense pine forest, he had doubled back to listen in on what the monks thought about his new look. As he listened to them talk, he was more relieved than he cared to admit, and growing vainer by the second.

"Oh yeah!" he crowed, very quietly, to himself. "Who's a sexy evil boy genius? I'm a sexy evil boy genius."

"Surprisingly, I'm almost inclined to agree with you."

Jack almost wet his pants as he yelped and spun around, causing the owner of the voice to give a small, dark chuckle.

Chase Young was standing there, trademark evil grin on his face as he looked at Jack.

Jack just stared, utterly captivated by the sight of the man he'd so recently realized his feelings for. Chase looked like some dark forest god, bronze eyes gleaming in the shadows that were growing ever blacker as the last remnant of sun slipped away. The look on his face made Jack's knees weak. That looked like . . . approval. And had Chase just agreed that Jack was sexy?

He fought the urge to squeal and won- barely.

As the look on Chase's face began to turn into the annoyed expression he knew so well, Jack realized he needed to say something. Summoning his courage, he stood up straight, opened his mouth, and said the most intelligent thing he could think of:

"Hi Chase. What are you doing here?"

8 8 8 8 8

Unlikely though he was to ever admit it, Chase was very, very glad he'd decided to come despite his lack of interest in the Bear Baton. Watching Jack had been both amusing and enlightening. Although the boy had displayed little skill, he hadn't needed it, due to his good sense and the monks' startlement. Chase couldn't truly blame them, however. Jack certainly looked very different.

He absolutely refused to use the word 'ravishing', even in his own head.

He laughed as Jack spun around in surprise, panic stamped across his features, and then froze completely. As Jack stood staring and said nothing in reply to the compliment, however, the warlord began to grow annoyed. Apparently Jack hadn't matured entirely; he was still petrified by Chase's presence.

Then Jack abruptly straightened up, his face calm, and Chase began to second-guess his own analysis. Had Jack been waiting for an attack, perhaps? That certainly didn't look like a defensive stance, but Chase had taken him by surprise . . . and maybe he knew that no stance on earth would save him from Chase Young.

Ego stroked, he was abruptly back in a good mood.

"Hi Chase." Jack's voice was casual but friendly. "What are you doing here?"

He gave Jack the same excuse that he'd given himself.

"I came to observe Omi. He still has great potential for Evil."

Chase saw Jack's face fall, and repressed a sigh. Jack still liked him enough to be jealous, it seemed, and like everyone else he assumed that Chase cared for Omi. He let them think so, because it certainly made the self-righteous monk more inclined to listen to him when they talked. But truly, what Chase liked was the power that came with having Omi under his thumb.

A thousand years of darkness, wrought by his hand, and a burning world that bowed to his rule? For that kind of power, he would show affection to a dead fish.

Changing the subject, Chase indulged his curiosity.

"I rather like the new costume, Spicer. What inspired the change?"

Jack looked down at himself as though he'd forgotten what he was wearing.

"Oh, this? I just thought I should wear something a little more in keeping with my new evil inspiration."

So Jack _had_ replaced him with another idol. Although he knew he should be pleased, Chase's good mood slipped a notch.

"I see. And who exactly is this inspiration?"

There was a long pause.

8 8 8 8 8

Jack's mind raced furiously. He did not, of course, really have a new inspiration. Who could ever replace Chase Young? But the fourth step in the plan was making Chase jealous, and this was his best chance. It was also a great excuse for the wardrobe change.

If only he could think of a villain who dressed like this . . .

Suddenly Jack's mind skipped back a comment Bobby had made, about dressing him as Twilight instead of Queen of the Damned. Vampire movies . . . goth fashion . . . that was it!

"I'm not sure you would know about him," he said hesitantly, covering for his long moment of silence. "Have you ever heard of Prince Vlad the Third of Wallachia?"

"Prince Vlad the Third . . . the name does sound familiar." Chase's eyebrows furrowed in thought. "Vlad of Wallachia." Suddenly his eyes widened. "Vlad _Dracula_? The Transylvanian prince that inspired Bram Stoker's novel?"

It was fully night now, and he could hardly see a thing, but Jack could tell from Chase's tone that he was unimpressed. Summoning every bit of knowledge he possessed, he scrambled to cobble together a convincing story. Luckily, he had gone on a bit of a vampire kick a few years ago, and had quite a bit of research to back his story up.

"Yes. Most people just know the vampire myth, but there's a lot more to it than that. He was a powerful prince, and he was known throughout the world for the terrible ways he punished his enemies. He killed hundreds and tortured most of them, using the infamous stakes or working prisoners to death building his castle. But to his own people, he was a hero; he held off the Ottoman army and won victories for his country."

Jack warmed to his task, growing more confident as he spoke.

"Now he's a legend, immortalized because of his brutality. Stoker chose him because he fit the vampire story so well, and because vampire folklore was widespread in his home country. And who knows?" Jack shrugged, fairly certain Chase could see it even in the dark.

"He might have even become a vampire. I've never met one, but they're just as likely to exist as an evil talking bean or a warrior who can change into a dragon. Anyway you look at it, he had it all- he was evil, powerful, respected, famous, and immortalized in history if not in life."

8 8 8 8 8

Chase was undeniably impressed. Jack was eloquent and persuasive as he spoke, losing the normal awkwardness in his eagerness to share information. One thing confused him, however.

"And this," he waved one elegant hand at Jack's ensemble "is the style that comes to mind when you think of a fifteenth century Transylvanian prince?"

Jack blushed, cheeks turning a delicate red in the dark.

"Not exactly. I went for the modern vampire interpretation. Artistic license and all that." Suddenly he shivered. "It's also a little cool for night work. It's been nice talking to you, but I'm gonna head home now. Bye Chase."

Jack strode a few paces away and activated his heli-pack without waiting for a goodbye. His robots followed him as he rose into the air, forming a line of light that trailed through the velvet black sky above the treetops. Chase stood for a long moment, watching him go.

Then the night air rushed in to fill the empty space as he willed himself home.

8 8 8 8 8

Jack couldn't believe his audacity as he flew above the trees, shivering in the cold night air. He had actually chosen when to end the conversation, not to mention pulling a very plausible story out of thin air. More importantly, Chase had been interested in something he had to say.

Elation more than made up for the cold that racked him, and he spun giddily through the air.

"Chase likes meeee!" he shouted, then coughed as he inhaled large quantities of frigid air. Wrapping his arms around himself, he headed rapidly for home.

He had all night to celebrate in a nice, full, _warm_ bathtub.

8 8 8 8 8

That night, for the first time in a very long time, Chase dreamed.

He dreamed of Jack's alabaster skin, flushed not with shame but with lust, as Chase's forked tongue caressed that pale body, flicking lightly across the quivering boy. Soft, white fingers clawed at the sheets as Jack writhed frantically beneath his touch, quivering as claws traced lightly over his skin.

Forked tongue? Claws?

Chase gently forced himself into wakefulness, eyes shining through the darkness as he opened them. He glanced down, assuring himself that his body was in human form.

The view that met him was something many would have died for. He was naked, the way he always slept, and his body was glorious in repose. Perfect muscles rippled down his chest and stomach, leading to sharply defined hips. Below them his erection rose, thick and hard, causing Chase to hiss in annoyance. Why a dream about _Jack Spicer_ would cause that reaction, he could not fathom. He supposed it had been a rather erotic dream, but that raised further questions. Why on earth was he dreaming of that insect in his bed- and himself in dragon form?

Chase Young had taken very few lovers over the centuries, although in truth he thought of them as playthings rather than people. Many sought his attentions –he was, after all, a veritable god of physical attractiveness- but Chase was usually unwilling to place himself in such a vulnerable position for a moment of pleasure.

On those rare occasions he did give in to his urges, he never did so in dragon form. Most people ran screaming at the mere sight of his inner beast, so it was hardly the form of choice when practicing seduction. His self-control was also considerably more precarious, meaning there was a slim but possible chance of him mauling his partner.

So why was he so lustfully dreaming of it now, with Spicer of all people? Heat pooled in his groin as he considered the dream, once again envisioning that slim, pale frame writhing beneath his stroking tongue. He wondered if Jack would beg him for sex, all that newly acquired calm melting into pure, submissive lust. He could almost hear that sweet young voice as Jack pleaded for release, almost see that radiant skin scored with the imprint of his gently nipping jaws. He imagined Jack's cries of pleasure as Chase thrust into him, clawed hands wrapped around snow-white hips.

Chase's hand brushed his erection, almost of its own accord, and he gasped into the darkness. His powerful hand stroked tenderly along the hard length as he imagined what it would be like to have Jack's hands there, caressing him before drawing him into that moist, eager mouth. Jack would moan around his length, swallowing his thrusting cock as Chase buried his hands in that bright, soft hair.

Chase growled, hips rolling, thrusting against his hand as he stroked harder. The flame-haired goth filled his mind as heat rose within him, pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. Without conscious direction he began to transform, scales spreading across his body as he arched upward, gasping as pleasure mingled with the pain of the change. He moaned loudly, tail lashing the bed as he came, warm liquid spraying across a hand now tipped with claws.

As the pleasure faded, Chase looked down at his true form and decided he needed a hobby.

Boredom had clearly driven him insane.


	4. Schemes

Melanie Spicer was a woman of society, vitality, and –thanks to her marriage- money.

In the social sphere, she was a genius, engineering her own rise to popularity and snagging the affluent international businessman Sean Spicer by the tender age of twenty one. She also had a knack for knowing just what outfits and accessories would accentuate her considerable beauty. Although her curvaceous figure was beginning to turn slightly plump with middle age, her curly blond hair, baby blue eyes, and flawless peach skin still turned heads.

"It's a pity Jack doesn't look a bit like me," Melanie sighed, examining her perfectly manicured nails as she confided her woes to a group of attentive followers. "Oh dear, that sounds awfully conceited, doesn't it?"

She giggled charmingly, and the women surrounding her echoed her laughter. "Of course, he is still a handsome boy. He's just a bit pale- and that hair! Irish red if I ever saw it. Comes from his father's side, you know."

Melanie, always very selective about her reality, refused to even _think_ of her son as an albino. It was such a strange little word, and no child of hers was ever going to be labeled strange. Jackie was just going through a phase, that was all. Once he got some sun, it would clear those little problems right up.

"Now that your aptitude for fashion has finally rubbed off on him, is he going to start coming to parties with you?"

Melanie eyed the speaker approvingly. Cassandra Allen was much like she herself had been at that age- precocious, beautiful, and endearingly sweet.

Pondering the question, she tapped one finger thoughtfully on her chin. "I don't know, dear. Jack is already so busy with his own set, when he's not working on some new gadget."

In truth, Melanie had very little idea what her son did with his time. She adored him, truly, but she was so _busy,_ and he was such a baffling child. She preferred to love him from afar, signing him up for all sorts of fun lessons and making him cookies when she felt domestic.

Cassandra spoke again, sincerity coating her words like honey. "Oh, but it would be so lovely to meet him. Any son of yours is bound to be a perfect gentleman, and there's such a shortage of those anymore." The gathered women laughed, and she blushed prettily.

_How precious,_ Melanie thought, remembering her own youth. _So pretty, and already such a lady._ Sudden inspiration flashed through her mind. _If Jack met a nice girl like that, maybe she'd encourage him to shape up a bit. _

Aloud she replied, "Perhaps I will bring him along. I'm sure he'd be delighted to meet a lovely girl like you." Cassandra beamed, but Melanie hardly noticed.

She was forming a plan.

8 8 8 8 8

Cassandra smiled brilliantly and let the talk turn back to how lovely the weather had been lately and how beautiful China was this time of year.

She had done what she needed to do.

At sixteen, Cassandra Allen already knew exactly what she wanted out of life: a man who had lots of money and was easily manipulated. She was already well-liked by the mother of almost every eligible young man she knew; she was the only girl in their set who chose to spend time polishing her halo with the trophy wives instead of hobnobbing with the rich kids her age. Hopefully it was about to pay off.

Jack Spicer had a reputation for being a bit of an odd fish, but he was the only heir to an extravagantly wealthy family, and his mother was queen of the business wives. If he had really grown out of his weird phase, as Melanie claimed, then now was the perfect time to snap him up. And even if he wasn't up to scratch, she could easily talk him into making a few changes.

There were very few things boys wouldn't do for Cassandra.

She watched attentively, feigning interest as Melanie Spicer continued to talk about her endlessly difficult life as the pampered housewife of a continuously absent businessman.

All she had to do was keep kissing up to this simpering old biddy, and the prize would fall right into her lap.

Ah, the joy of a perfect plan.

8 8 8 8 8

"Hello?"

"Jack?"

"Come in, come in, whatever you are!"

"That's come out, Omi. And I don't think he's here."

After their rather embarrassing previous defeat, the Xiaolin monks were on high alert. There was no way they were going to lose another wu to Jack Spicer, and they were prepared for whatever sneaky tactics he might try to use.

The only problem was he didn't seem to be there.

The Culver Crystal glittered innocuously atop a pile of rubble in the abandoned quarry. Not a sound but the wind broke the silence as they carefully walked towards the mound, eyes peeled for anything suspicious. Raimundo leapt lightly up the rock heap and reached for the Crystal.

"**Surrender the Shen-Gong-Wu!" **

He jumped and almost tumbled down the rocks as a blaring mechanical voice shattered the stillness. A Jackbot flew towards him, blade arms whirring, a copper tentacle snaking out to grab the Culver Crystal.

"Typhoon Boom, Wind!"

He slammed the Jackbot with a blast of air, crushing it mid-flight. The crumpled heap of metal clattered down onto the rocks, and Raimundo looked alertly about for more robots or an approaching Jack Spicer.

He saw nothing but his friends, looking just as confused as he felt.

"Umm . . . was that it? One Jackbot and no Jack?" He grabbed the crystal as he spoke, hopping nimbly off the rubble to rejoin his friends.

Dojo peeked out from underneath Clay's hat, eyes wide. "Really? He didn't even show up? That's odd."

"I was lookin forward to kickin that low-down coyote's butt." Clay complained.

"Well, at least we got the wu this time." Kimiko shrugged, hiding her disappointment. "I'm sure we'll get plenty of other chances to kick Jack's butt. Right now let's just go home."

Dojo wriggled out of Clay's hat and dropped to the ground, suddenly expanding to his larger size so the monks could clamber on.

Unseen by the Xiaolin, Chase watched them go, feeling an unmistakable pang of frustration and the slightest tickle of something that might be worry.

Where in the name of Evil was Spicer?

8 8 8 8 8

Jack sneezed.

Oblivious to all the speculation he was causing, he huddled miserably in bed, hating the sliver of late-afternoon sunlight that crept around the edge of his curtains.

As it turned out, flying through cold night air with no coat did nothing for your health.

So now here he was, wrapped in blankets and clutching wads of tissue as he stared numbly at the TV. His nose was stuffy and dripping, his throat was sore, and he was _missing his chance _at another Shen-Gong-Wu.

He blew his nose wretchedly.

One of his Jackbots had gone out after it, but the monks went through those things like blades of grass, and Fate didn't seem to be favoring him today. In addition to all of the above, he was freshly out of pudding cups, and the only thing currently on TV was a seemingly endless rotation of melodramatic soap operas.

Jack groaned aloud as familiar theme music started up. He'd seen this bloody episode twice in the past few days. Apparently it was a fan favorite; it also kind of made him want to hurl, not least because the lead character shared his name.

"_Previously on __All the Days of All the Lives of All My Bold and Restless Children__, Jack confessed his incestuous relationship with his evil twin Jamie to Isabella, after she revealed that she had only a month to live and the baby was really his_."

"Jack, how could you? I loved you! I trusted you! And you betrayed me with him. Am I not enough for you? What does that evil man have that I don't?"

The Jack on the bed said the words along with the Jack onscreen, feeling infinitely pathetic for having them memorized.

"Darling, look at me. Don't you understand he means nothing? He fascinated me with dark beauty, but it was only a temporary distraction. You're the one I want, the only woman I've ever truly loved. He's hopelessly cruel, a lunatic, but you're my angel."

"Oh Jack! Truly?"

"Of course my beloved!"

Jack rolled his eyes at the mush they were spouting. Could this plot get any more ridiculous?

"I'll never leave you again. My eyes will never stray, my heart will never falter. From this day on, you're the only thought that fills my mind."

"Oh, Jack! Kiss me!"

Onscreen Jack obliged, and muffled gasps and moans soon filled the air as they sank down onto the suede couch of her stylish townhouse.

Real Jack grew increasingly depressed as he stared at the screen, now tastefully showing only the heads of the frantically kissing couple as clothes went flying. God, what he wouldn't give to have Chase hold him like that! Hell, he'd sell his soul just to have Chase _look_ at him like that. Jack sniffled, then resolutely pulled himself together and clicked the television off.

Watching soap operas and wallowing in self-pity wasn't going to get him anywhere.

8 8 8 8 8

Chase Young materialized in a forest he'd never seen before, fists clenched and breath coming fast.

_I am not angry,_ he assured himself_. I am merely surprised. _

A squirrel in a nearby tree chattered at him, angry at the sudden intrusion, and he unleashed a bolt of Heylin magic that instantly reduced the furry creature into a drift of pale grey soot. As he stared at the ashes floating on the breeze, he gave serious consideration to vaporizing every squirrel and burning every tree in the entire forest.

Alright, perhaps he was a _bit_ angry.

After Jack's failure to appear, Chase had gone to the young man's house, hoping to discover the reason for his absence. It wasn't that Chase was concerned about him, of course, or that he was hoping for another interesting conversation. He was only . . . curious. That was it, merely curious.

He had arrived just in time to hear Jack conversing with some hysterical woman, comforting her in a nasal tone that suggested he'd been crying. Chase's blood boiled as Jack assured her that Chase meant nothing to him, and she was all that he desired.

He had felt rather like a 'cruel lunatic', listening to his Jack make love to that worthless creature. Why did he have to go and find a lover now, when Chase had begun to take interest in him? What did the boy think he was doing, tossing his chance at Chase aside for some contemptible female?

Conveniently forgetting that he had given Jack no sign of his affection, and only recently started to admit it to himself, Chase worked himself into a righteous fury. He willed himself away, to anywhere but there, and ended up in this strange forest barbecuing squirrels.

He took a deep breath and found his center, exhaling his anger into the air around him, dulling the edge of his temper until he had it under control.

It wasn't all bad; Jack apparently held passion for him, and it had been enough to make him neglect the female, whoever she was. It shouldn't be that hard to eliminate the competition and remind Jack what he truly wanted.

Calmer now, Chase transported himself home on a wisp of magic.

He had to make a plan.

8 8 8 8 8

A/N: Ah, there's nothing like a bit of self-mockery in the morning. Because my plot isn't becoming like a soap opera _at all_.


	5. First Impressions

This chair was beginning to get way too familiar.

After informing him out of the blue that he was required to attend a party with her, Jack's mother had sent him back to Bobby for an appropriate outfit. Jack was once again facing his reflection in a lighted mirror as Bobby fiddled with his hair, trying to get it in that "perfect party style." They had already spent the better part of two hours finding the perfect clothes, and another trying on matching accessories. Or rather, Bobby had tried them on Jack while Jack stood like a lump.

By this point, he was ready to wear a pink tutu and a mohawk if it would get him out of Bobby's cheerfully annoying clutches.

Bobby gave a sudden huff, abruptly stopping in the middle of brushing Jack's hair. "Alright, that is it." He banged the brush on a counter and pulled a stool over by Jack's chair, crossing his legs and folding his arms as he perched on it.

"You've been in a snit ever since you got here, and I know it's about more than this silly party. Come on, spill."

He looked at Jack expectantly. Jack stared back, startled and thinking hard. He _was_ a little depressed; his fruitless efforts to attract Chase's attention were weighing on his mind. And he barely knew Bobby, but it would be nice to talk to someone about his feelings, especially someone who actually wanted to listen.

Very few people cared enough to listen to Jack.

"You can't tell my mom about this," he began hesitantly.

"Honey!" Bobby grasped his hands, looking at him earnestly. "I'm your friend! I didn't tell her anything else, did I?" Bobby gave his hands a squeeze, then released them. "I won't pass on anything you don't want her to know."

Jack decided to trust him, but tell a vague version of the story. There was no need for Bobby to grasp the specifics, even if Jack had time to relate them.

"It's about what you said the other day. I didn't . . ." he paused, blushing. "I didn't know I liked guys until you made that comment. I thought about it, and I realized I'm kind of in love with this man I've admired for a long time."

"Oh my god!" Bobby didn't stop at a hand squeeze this time, instead jumping off his stool to give Jack a bone-crushing hug. "I am so sorry sweetie! I knew your mother didn't know, but I had no idea you didn't." He let go of Jack and sat back down. "It must have been hard to find out that way. I would have told you so differently if I'd known!" He sighed dramatically. "It's this damn gay-dar! It's just _too_ reliable sometimes."

Jack was touched by Bobby's reaction, and he hastened to reassure the worried man. "No, it's okay. It's better to know, and you helped me figure it out. But I've been trying to get this guy's attention lately, and I'm not sure if it's working. . ."

Jack poured out his woes, telling Bobby about his feelings, his plan, and his minor success in having Chase voluntarily speak to him. When he was done, Bobby looked at him silently for a long moment, absorbing the information.

"So let me get this straight: You're using a recipe to get a guy you've been stalking for years, but only recently realized you liked, to want you?"

"Yes. Pretty much."

"And it's actually working?"

"Well . . . he talked to me, and he sort of agreed I was sexy."

"Mmhm. And have you actually told him you like him?"

"I prefer to keep all my limbs attached to my body, thanks."

"Sweetie. . ." Bobby looked at him sadly, and Jack felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. "I'm gonna be honest with you. I just don't think it's going to work. If you've really been trying to become friends with him for that long and it still hasn't happened, you probably won't get a much better reaction hitting on him. The fact that you're afraid to tell him clinches it. The conversation is a good sign, but I don't think it's enough."

Jack slumped in his chair. "I know it's hopeless," he said sadly, "but he's just so perfect. I can't help but try."

"I think what you need is someone else. Find a guy, flirt with him, and forget about Chase or Chance or whatever his name is." Bobby enveloped him in another hug, warm and comforting. "And don't you worry; by the time I'm done, boys will flock to you like geese to Canada. Now let's get to work. It's almost party time!"

Just like that he was up and flying about the room, closely resembling a bright blond tornado. Jack smiled as he watched Bobby flit about, sweeping up hair and makeup products.

It was nice to have a friend.

8

Cassandra studied herself in the mirror, turning her face this way and that, searching for any imperfections. Her complexion was perfect now that she had dabbed on a bit of makeup, her golden skin entirely free of flaws, and she nodded in satisfaction.

Next she examined her eyes, not that she could do much about those. They were a lovely green color, expressive and captivating, but she stared in dismay at the lines below them. She was seventeen, for god's sake! She shouldn't have to worry about wrinkles.

She drew her fingers through her wavy black hair, frowning as it parted silkily before them. It was pretty, smooth and shining in the soft light of her bedroom, but it was too flat. No bounce, no body, nothing. She sighed and moved on, looking down at her dress.

At least that looked good.

Usually she dressed for cuteness, wearing light colors and innocent cuts that emphasized her youthful sweetness. Tonight she had decided to be bold, risking the disapproval of the old hens in an effort to win Jack's.

Melanie Spicer had taken the bait and announced that she was bringing Jack to this evening's gathering at the Lannister estate. Cassandra had begun considering her outfit at once, recalling every tidbit she'd ever heard about Jack's tastes to help shape her choice.

In the end she chose a deep burgundy party dress that showed just enough cleavage to pique the interest of a teenage boy without scandalizing his mother. It also accentuated her small waist, molding to her skin until it flared at the skirt. It looked positively ravishing, if she did say so herself. Glancing over her reflection one last time, she spritzed on a bit of perfume and blew her mirror self a kiss.

Jack Spicer wouldn't know what hit him.

8

The whispers started as soon as he walked through the flower-bedecked gate.

The massive garden was filled with well-dressed people holding cocktails and laughing with false enthusiasm at bland jokes. Lanterns hung from poles, casting a warm yellow glow in the deepening twilight. Waiters circled with bright silver trays, offering dainty morsels to peckish guests. Through it all wandered Jack, nervous and apprehensive as he looked for a friendly face. He wished frantically that his mother had stayed with him, but she had disappeared as soon as they were through the gate.

"Go make friends Jackie," she told him as they entered the garden. "Everyone here is just dying to meet you."

With that she had hurried off in the direction of a group of women admiring a bed of orchids. They greeted her enthusiastically and Jack turned away, trying not to panic. He'd been to parties before; he could do this.

As he moved aimlessly through the crowd, however, he began to change his mind.

Nobody here seemed particularly interested in talking to him. They stood in clumps and groups, chattering to each other gaily. Wherever he went, the chatter became quieter for a moment, a sure sign that someone was making a discreet inquiry about the strange boy in their midst. Occasionally someone was just a tad bit too loud, and he heard murmurs of "_That _is Melanie Spicer's son?" and "He's so very _pale_."

Jack stared sullenly at the flowers lining the path. He'd only been here for half an hour, and already he was dying to leave. What had possessed his mother to bring him?

"You must be Jack."

He looked up to find a girl standing in front of him, the first person his age he'd seen all night. Long black hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, and her deep green eyes sparkled, set off by warm beige skin that glowed in the soft lamplight. She smiled brightly, and Jack stifled the urge to look around and see if someone was standing behind him. She'd said his name, hadn't she?

"Yeah, I'm Jack." He paused a moment, unsure how to politely ask who the hell she was. "And you are?"

She giggled. Jack, who had heard more than his fill of giggles that day, reflected that at least it wasn't as high-pitched as Bobby's.

"I'm sorry! I completely forgot to introduce myself. Melanie- I mean, Mrs. Spicer- has told me so much about you. I feel like I know you already. I'm Cassandra Allen."

"Umm . . . it's nice to meet you." Jack was a little embarrassed; he never really knew what to do in social situations, and he didn't get lot of chances to make conversation with beautiful girls.

Fortunately for him, however, Cassandra didn't seem to care. She asked him a flood of polite questions that slowly turned more personal, listening with avid interest as he talked about everything from his favorite type of pudding to his interest in robotics. He left Evil and the Xiaolin out of the conversation entirely, not wanting to scare off the only person willing to talk to him. Every time he faltered, sure he must be boring her or acting like a geek, she encouraged him enthusiastically to go on. His awkwardness quickly subsided, soothed by Cassandra's approving smile and attentive expression.

Soon they were sitting on a stone bench in a secluded corner, cut off from the rest of the party by a circle of large flowering bushes. He was describing his Jackbots, explaining the long and difficult process involved in creating each new type. Cassandra was nodding along, eyes wide, making the occasional impressed noise when he mentioned a particularly difficult phase.

"Oh dear."

She interrupted him suddenly and looked anxiously at the sky. It was fully dark now, the only light coming from the faintly shining moon and the softly glowing lanterns.

"Jack, I'm so sorry, but I have to go. I didn't realize how late it was getting."

She looked genuinely disappointed, and Jack felt a pang of sadness. Cassandra was a wonderful listener, and he'd really been enjoying their conversation. He hadn't noticed the time either, too caught up in their discussion.

Cassandra dropped her gaze, looking shyly at the ground. "Jack . . . it's been really nice talking to you. Do you think we could do it again sometime?"

Her tone was hopeful, and he wasn't sure how to respond. This amazing girl was asking _him_ for another conversation? What was he supposed to say? "Hell yes!" would probably be a little too enthusiastic.

"If you don't want to, I understand. I know I'm not the most interesting person in the world." She smiled sadly. "Goodbye Jack. This was fun." She turned to go and he stood up hastily, stumbling over his own feet in his haste.

"Cassandra, wait!"

She stopped and turned, green eyes full of mingled hurt and hope. Jack felt like an asshole for sparking those emotions in her; he knew what it was like to feel rejected.

"I'd love to spend time with you again. Do you want to . . ." Jack searched his mind hastily for an activity that would interest her. She'd seemed excited about his robots, so he went with that. "Do you want to come over and see the Jackbots? I just modified a whole batch, and I'm going to test the new program tomorrow."

Cassandra smiled joyfully, and relief swept him.

"Really? You'd let me see them before anyone else? Jack, that's so sweet of you! Of course I'll come tomorrow."

He decided not to share the information that he wouldn't be showing them to anyone else. No one else had ever cared to see them, but she didn't need to know that. They named a time and Jack gave her directions, reciting his address so her driver would be sure to find it. She thanked him one last time and left, hair rippling gently as she walked gracefully through the gap in the shrubs. Jack watched her go, heart filling with happiness.

He had _two_ friends now.

8

Cassandra walked smoothly down the stone-paved garden path, filled to the brim with smug triumph.

It had been an ordeal, listening to Jack ramble on about his pointless obsession, but it was worth it. She'd had to lay it on a little thick there at the end, but he was now firmly hooked, and she would have all tomorrow to sink her claws in deeper.

She sighed, thinking of the trial the next day was going to be. Why couldn't he have been interested in something worthwhile, like shopping or traveling? Then she could have spent tomorrow visiting an exotic locale, or better yet buying herself presents with Jack's money. Instead, she was going to waste her day pretending to be impressed by ugly little machines.

Shrugging mentally, Cassandra reminded herself it could be worse. At least Jack wasn't ugly. A bit strange looking, with that ghost-white skin and too-bright hair, but not truly unpleasant. And she could always fix him up a bit if she needed to. His unusual looks could be billed as exoticism, and soon he would be willing to change in whatever ways she desired.

Jack belonged to her now.


	6. Sugar and Plasma

A/N: Important mentions: Much adoration to **Freaku, **for her frequent and insightful reviewing. Thank you for the motivation! Also, buckets of glee for **TheZombieMinion**, who has promised to draw me some fan art. No one has ever drawn me fan art before, so I'm very excited.

8

Chase had spent almost the entire morning watching Jack in his spy orb, growing increasingly frustrated as he did so. The female had yet to make an appearance; he had hoped she would be with Jack, so he could observe his enemy. But Jack's day had been dedicated to preparing for a garden party held by one of his mother's acquaintances.

He had spent most of it at the hands of a man named Bobby, whose entire job seemed to consist of picking out clothes. It amused Chase to no end to realize that there were people who needed someone else to choose their garments for them, and enough of them that the man could make a living at it. However, he quickly grew bored and a little irritated, watching Jack get primped and preened by the too-enthusiastic blond man. He soon dismissed the vision, sending the orb back into the floor.

Chase was rather relieved that Jack seemed to have gone to the man only at his mother's request; choosing your attire was hardly a difficult task. Of course, Chase had it easier than most; he wore the same armor day in and day out, as he had for several hundred years.

An evil thought bloomed in his mind, emerging from his brain like a wicked flower. Jack had, albeit unwittingly, made Chase very happy by adopting his new and more revealing apparel.

Perhaps he should return the favor.

8

It was one in the morning, and Jack lay awake in the still darkness of his bedroom, turning the day's events over in his mind. The sudden acquisition of two friends buoyed his spirits like helium in a balloon, an unusual sensation for the lonely boy genius.

Everything was in readiness for Cassandra's visit tomorrow. Not wanting to seem like the lazy slug-a-bed he really was, he'd told her to come at eleven, which meant preparing tonight. His workshop, already tidy, was now spotlessly clean. His room, normally comparable to a post-tornado trailer park, was also clean, just in case.

Just in case of what, he wasn't sure.

He only knew that this was the first time in many long years that he'd had a friend over. The only people who came to see him anymore were villains and monks. The Xiaolin came to kick his butt; his evil partners came and went as they joined and betrayed him; Wuya came whenever Chase kicked her out.

_Chase_.

He realized with a start that he hadn't thought of Chase all night, not since he'd started talking to Cassandra. The realization made him both pleased and oddly guilty; it felt almost disloyal to forget about the man. But that was stupid, wasn't it? He didn't owe Chase anything, and hadn't Bobby said he should find a distraction? Still uneasy but determined to ignore it, Jack tucked the covers snugly in around himself and closed his eyes.

Who needed grumpy old Chase anyway?

8

The next morning dawned bright and early, as mornings all too often do.

Chase Young rose with the sun, beginning his day with a series of stretches taken from all the disciplines he'd mastered over the years and blended into one perfect routine. He contemplated his course of action as he warmed up, anticipating the wonderful day ahead.

He would give Jack until noon.

Cassandra Allen woke to the beeping of her alarm clock, cursing groggily as she daintily slammed the snooze button. Normally she would never be up this early, but apparently Jack was some kind of morning person. She would cure him of _that_ quickly enough, but today was all about being cheerfully agreeable. And if she wanted to be beautiful in due time, she needed to start with a shower _now_.

Damn Spicer; who the hell invited someone over at _eleven am_?

Jack Spicer, in a tradition known and revered all over the world, woke up promptly at sunrise and briefly considered closing his curtains. Then he rolled over, pulled the covers over his head, and went back to sleep.

Another five minutes wouldn't hurt; he had until eleven.

8

Cassandra gazed with satisfaction at the Spicer home as her car drew slowly up the long driveway. An elegant mansion topped by sweeping hipped roofs in the Chinese style, it set incongruously on a lush English lawn surrounded by a low stone wall. The effect was lovely, and Cassandra sighed, happy in the knowledge that it would one day belong to her.

But first, she had work to do.

A robot hovered in the driveway, burnished body glinting in the sun. It opened the door for her as the car rolled to a stop, metal claw scraping unpleasantly against the handle.

"Master Jack is in his lab," it informed her as she stepped from the car. "I will take you there."

Cassandra was not pleased. Jack _should_ have been waiting himself. Sending one of his toys was just . . . insulting.

She didn't bother to hide her irritation as she walked up the steps to the front door, boots tapping loudly on the stone. She had dressed with purpose today; her deep green jacket hid a silky black camisole that plunged dramatically at the neckline, exposing quite a lot of smooth golden skin. Dark, tight jeans and spike-heeled black boots completed the look. It was the closest thing to a goth outfit her wardrobe could muster, and she hadn't had time to shop for another, even assuming she would stoop to wearing _outcas_t fashion.

Cassandra's mood improved as she followed the robot through the long hallways of the Spicer home, drinking in the tasteful décor. It was every bit as lovely inside s it was out, and her sense of proud potential ownership grew with every step.

She couldn't wait to be the lady of this manor.

She was decidedly less impressed when the robot led her down a flight of rickety stairs into the basement. Twisted pipes of all sizes snaked around the edges of the room, and multi-drawered toolboxes were distributed randomly across the floor. On a table in the middles of the room lay a disemboweled robot, metal gears and multi-colored wires protruding from its dismantled lower half. Across the table stood Jack, hunched over the injured machine, deftly twisting a tiny wire around a slim metal stick with a rubber grip. A pair of amber goggles covered his eyes, and she wondered why until a bright spark of electricity flared between stick and wire. The robot's eyes flashed red, then blanked again as the spark died away.

The whole thing resembled the laboratory of a mad scientist in a B movie, and it was creeping Cassandra out.

She cleared her throat loudly and Jack jumped, nearly sticking himself with the small bit of metal. He looked up at her, red eyes tinted oddly by amber glass, and she gave a little wave and a smile.

"Cassandra! You're here!"

Her eyes widened as he hastily straightened up and emerged from behind the table, pushing the goggles up onto his head as he did so. He noticed her expression and grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry I wasn't at the door. One of the Jackbots had a major malfunction, and I got a little caught up. Umm . . . I hope you're not mad at me?"

His voice tilted higher at the end, making the statement a question.

"No, of course not," she reassured him with a smile. "I completely understand. You just look different when you're at home, that's all. I like it."

To her complete surprise, she actually meant it.

Last night Jack had been cute in his tuxedo, a shy slip of a boy trying and failing to blend in with the social elite. Now, moving through the twilight of his basement lab, Jack was in his element. Tight black pants clung to his lean hips in a way that would make a less disciplined woman pant, and the black mesh sleeves of his dark red shirt formed an enticing pattern of ebony lines over his pale skin. Even the makeup underlining his eyes, repellent though she usually found it on a man, looked incredibly sexy.

In short, the boy was hot.

8

Jack smiled obliviously under Cassandra's gaze, unaware of the lustful turn her thoughts had taken.

She glanced away suddenly, looking curiously at the Jackbot on the table.

"So what happened to your robot?"

"Oh, nothing big. Just a minor wiring problem."

_Thank god_, he added mentally. He'd gotten out of bed just in time to have the newly- upgraded bot glitch, and he'd been working frantically all morning to identify the problem. Luckily, the defect seemed to be coincidental, instead of another flaw in his new design. He'd been on the verge of repairing the faulty wire responsible when Cassandra walked in.

"Oh. That's good." She looked around inquisitively. "Where are the rest of them?"

Jack felt a little flutter of nervousness in his stomach. His Jackbots had been mocked almost as much as he had; he was more than a little defensive on their behalf. But Cassandra was really nice, and there was no way their newest function could fail to impress, even despite the little annoyance that _was_ inherent in the design. Steeling himself, he shouted a command.

"Jackbots, assemble!"

A horde of robots entered the room, buzzing loudly as they flew. The noise quickly became deafening in the echoing basement, and Jack winced. He'd been worried about how the unfortunate droning would sound in enclosed spaces, but he hadn't expected it to be this bad.

"A bit loud, aren't they?" Cassandra shouted, fingers stuffed in her ears to shut out the irritating sound.

"Only for a while," Jack shouted back. "It's the plasma cannons. They're usually silent, but the new machinery is heavy, they're having trouble compensating."

"The what?"

"Hang on. All but you, dismissed!"

Just as quickly, the robots flew right back out. The annoying noise quickly receded, until only a faint buzz remained, courtesy of the Jackbot instructed to stay.

"Sorry about that," he told Cassandra, who still looked a little rattled. "That's the first time I've had them all in one room since the upgrade. I didn't think it would be that loud. The lifters are having trouble holding them up, because the converters are so heavy. But I can work on that later. What's really important is the cannons."

He jumped into an enthusiastic explanation, delighted all over again at making something previously considered impossible outside science fiction.

8

Cassandra fought the urge to yawn as Jack rambled on about his revolutionary breakthrough and its practical applications. Sexy or not, he was annoying her. That god-awful buzzing had almost split her head in two, and it had definitely soured her mood. _Think of the money,_ she told herself. _Think of shoe-shopping in Paris, or spa treatments in Jamaica._

Making sure her expression was appropriately interested and admiring, she drifted into a daydream of lounging on a beach in the Maldives, letting Jack's voice blend with the imaginary sound of ocean waves. Occasional phrases reached her, but she did her best to ignore them.

"It took forever to make it self-sustaining, and it kept just dissipating after a few feet at first . . . had to paint the tubes black or the plasma lit the Jackbots up like neon signs . . . kept overheating, but I fixed it."

The tropical sun was warm on her skin, and her bathing suit fit like a well-tailored glove. Beautiful boys ogled her as they passed, and the soft wind played with her silky hair as waves washed in and out.

"Still a little unstable, but they haven't exploded in days . . . plasma torches, everybody has those, but actual readily portable _guns_. . ."

Was he talking about weapons? He'd said something about plasma cannons, hadn't he? What kind of rich kid made robots with _weapons_? Maybe it was for some military; he might be contributing to the family fortune already. She should really pay more attention . . . but she just couldn't be bothered.

Cassandra sank back into her fantasy, this time mixing in a cold margarita and a hot masseuse. By conventional standards she was too young for either, but that had never stopped her before. She was just about to sip the tangy, salt-rimmed concoction when a hand on her arm brought her back to the real world. Jack was peering at her worriedly, face full of concern.

"Are you okay? You went a little glassy-eyed on me. Am I getting boring?"

Crap. She was busted, unless she could think of adequate cover. She could pretend to be suddenly taken ill; it would get her out of there at least. But that wouldn't serve her plan of getting closer to Jack.

Then it hit her: When all else fails, use sex appeal.

It was a bit sooner than she'd planned, but he _was_ rather pretty, and it couldn't hurt to give him a little taste. It would, at the very least, get him to stop talking.

"It's just a little warm in here, that's all. Is there anywhere I can hang my jacket?"

8

Jack gave an inward sigh of relief. She'd looked really out of it there for a second.

"Of course, we'll just put it. . ." he trailed off as she undid the buttons and slipped the garment off, revealing the tiny black shirt beneath it. Some part of his mind quickly protested that it was unimpressed; and wasn't he supposed to be gay anyway? But it was easily shoved aside by the large percentage of his brain suddenly devoted to admiring the perfect cleavage before him.

"Put it . . .?"

Cassandra's voice was amused as she invited him to finish his sentence, and Jack hastily returned his gaze to her face.

"Umm . . . I'll just lay it on the toolbox over there, if that's alright?"

"That's fine. Thanks Jack."

She beamed at him, eyes sparkling merrily beneath long lashes, as he took her coat and carried it carefully over to the toolbox. Shaking himself mentally, he ordered himself to keep his mind- and his eyes- off her breasts. Turning back around, he locked his gaze on her face.

"We can go outside and blast something in the garden if you want to. It's cooler out there, and I can't really fire the cannons in here anyway."

"Actually Jack . . ." Those green eyes bored into him, holding him in place as she moved closer. She stopped a hairsbreadth away, face almost touching his. "I have a better idea."

"Wha-"

Her mouth was gentle against his, a soft fluttering of butterfly lips. Jack was too shocked to respond to the unexpected action, and he stood frozen as she kissed him long and sweetly. He had the vague notion that he should push her away; Cassandra had only met him last night, and she really shouldn't be kissing him. But when he thought about it, that seemed silly. He was enjoying being kissed, so why shouldn't she if she wanted to?

She wasn't Chase, but she was a nice, beautiful girl who obviously adored him. What more could he ask for?

Cassandra wrapped her arms around him as she deepened the kiss, capturing his bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. A flicker of heat went through him as those ample breasts pressed against his chest, and it intensified when she pulled him closer, molding her body to his own.

Suddenly they were no longer just kissing, they were _making out_, and Jack was determined to enjoy the experience for all it was worth. He kissed her back fiercely, the instincts of desire taking over as he sought to control the kiss. His arms went around her, hands sliding down her back as she surrendered dominance to him. His recently unleashed hormones were going into overdrive, demanding that he lick, bite, _touch_, and Jack didn't intend to disappoint them. Cassandra writhed in his arms as his hands moved to her hips, and he fought back a groan as she rubbed against his groin.

Of course, it was at exactly that moment a polite cough issued from behind them.

8

By sheer strength of magic, Chase forged a connection between his spy orb and the giant television screen in Jack's basement. Neither device appreciated his efforts; the orb was a thing of great magic, and thus loathed joining with its electrical counterpart. He gave it no choice, forcing the connection into existence with pure power. It was a distasteful method to someone so well-versed in subtlety, but it was necessary.

Chase had absolutely no idea how to manipulate modern technology, and he had no intention of letting anyone else learn that.

Wuya was as clueless as he was, and would likely be unable to use the knowledge against him, but the monks would certainly seek to make life difficult if they realized how limited his grasp of mechanical things really was. And one never really knew about Hannibal Bean; the annoying nugget often knew far more than he should. Actions such as commandeering Jack's television from time to time were a small price to pay for keeping his foes uninformed.

The final bit of magic fell into place, and the surface of the orb shimmered and blurred as a picture formed within. Chase waited impatiently for it to sharpen, a charming smile spread across his face.

The smile became a snarl as he viewed exactly what was happening in Jack's lab.

_His_ Jack was entwined with a dark-haired female, and though both were fully clothed, they seemed unlikely to be that way for long. Smothering his jealousy and rage, Chase dragged the smile back onto his face. This time his teeth were a trifle more prominent, his look just a little more predatory, and his eyes just a bit colder.

He coughed once, politely.

Jack spun around, releasing the girl in his haste, and she caught herself against the table with an indignant expression Chase found highly amusing. Jack was flushed and breathing hard, tight pants doing nothing to hide his arousal, and the sight filled him with anger and lust in equal measure.

"I hope I'm not interrupting?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

"No! I mean, well, I dunno . . . um, sort of."

Jack's cheeks were cherry red by the time he ended his statement, and Chase's eyebrow rose even higher.

"I see. I had been hoping you would join me for some training today. It has been quite some time since you visited my home. But if you're busy . . ."

"He is, obviously."

The female had regained her poise quickly; she glared up at the screen, wrapping one slender arm possessively around Jack.

Chase smiled viciously as he sized her up. She was pretty enough, but no match for his immortal beauty. "I would hate to intrude," he lied smoothly, mentally promising a slow death as he glared back at her. She didn't blink, and they stared at each other for a long moment before his disconcerting bronze eyes forced her to look away. Then his gaze shifted to Jack, who still stood silent.

"What about tomorrow? Will your busy schedule be open by then?"

8

Jack was transfixed by an unsettling mixture of shock and embarrassment. His longtime idol had just caught him making out with his brand new . . . whatever she was. He had a feeling "friend" didn't quite cover it anymore. And not only was said idol not mocking him -well, not mocking him much- but Chase had actually invited him over for training! He had been begging Chase to train him for _years_ with no results. Now, out of the blue, he had decided to grant Jack's wish.

Forcing himself to refrain from an unmanly squee, Jack managed a fairly calm-sounding "Tomorrow is great."

"Very well. I look forward to seeing you." Chase's grin widened evilly."And Jack? See that you get at least a little rest tonight; you'll need your energy tomorrow."

And with that, the screen went blank.

8

Cassandra didn't know who the gorgeous man had been, but she recognized competition when she saw it. She sat daintily on the lab table, intending to strike an enticing pose and lure Jack back into their previous activity.

Instead, she sat directly down on the little metal stick Jack had been using to repair his malfunctioning bot. Luckily, Jack was in the habit of always turning off potentially dangerous electrical devices after he finished a project. Unluckily for Cassandra, he hadn't been quite finished when she came in.

She squealed in distress as several hundred volts of electricity shot through her body, frizzing her hair and scorching a hole in her jeans as it sought a path to ground. That high a concentration isn't necessarily fatal, as Cassandra quickly found out, but it does result in a certain amount of pain- and occasional loss of bladder control as stricken muscles spasm and release.

Acting sexy quickly ceased to be an option.


	7. Training Day

A/N: Howdy there! I have returned at last! Loads of thanks to the wonderful **ZombieMinion**, who gave me some great advice, as well as providing motivation to get off my patooty and work on this thing. (She drew me art! Sexy Jack!).

8 8 8 8 8 8

Contrary to what you might think, Cassandra wasn't angry after her incident at the Spicer mansion.

Not that she didn't _leave_ upset. She stormed out without so much as looking at the lamely apologizing Jack ,and spent most of the ride home contemplating how best to murder him in his sleep. As she settled into a soothing bath, however, she began to reconsider. There were certain perks that came with having a man mess up, after all. Jack was certain to be terribly worried about her, and willing to be very, very accommodating in order to get back into her good graces.

Her mood improved further as she enjoyed a hastily scheduled massage to sooth her poor shocked muscles. Jack would probably send her a present, something to cheer her up and make her more receptive to his apologies. Maybe a bouquet . . . expensive flowers certainly, like imported orchids or a rare shade of rose.

By the time she was at her stylist's, relaxing in a padded chair as her frazzled hair was revitalized, she fully expected to have a dozen roses and two dozen missed messages waiting for her at home. He was probably calling her at this very moment, praying for her to pick up and listen to his heartfelt apologies. The thought lifted her spirits, and a beatific smile spread across her face. She wouldn't forgive him just for that, of course, but it would make a wonderful prelude to the real apology.

Preferably something apologetically shiny and set with diamonds.

Cassandra had played this game before. If she held out long enough, Jack would become desperate for her attention, and the presents would consequently become grander. Most boys worked their way up from flowers to chocolates to jewelry. Depending on the nature of the infraction, she expected anything from earrings to a full set before extending the well-manicured hand of forgiveness. For an electric shock . . . Jack had better be prepared to shell out big time.

She lost herself in visions of delicate gold chains and emeralds that matched her eyes, held up by a remorseful Jack who begged her to return and grace his home with her presence once more. By the time she was done regaining her former perfection, Cassandra was seething with impatience. She wanted to be home, relishing Jack's begging, and savoring the first of his gifts.

Her anticipation heightened as she finally headed homewards, and the ride back seemed to take forever. She was practically bouncing with eagerness when the driver opened her door. She leapt from the car, dashed through the front door- and almost ran straight into her mother, who was hovering in the entryway.

Catalina was a woman made for hovering. She hovered about the house while her husband was at work, supervising maids and cooks because she had nothing better to do. She hovered at the edges of parties, watching with mingled pride and jealousy as her daughter navigated the social seas that baffled her. She hovered, too, at the edge of true beauty. Time and worry had lined her lovely face and thickened the slim figure of her youth. And although she shared her daughter's features, Cassandra was already far prettier than she had ever been. This might have had something to do with the fact that Catalina had only two expressions: a worried frown and a nervous smile. It was the frown that was in evidence now.

"Cassandra dear, do you know where your father is? He's running very late, and it's not like him not to call . . ."

Cassandra rolled her eyes mentally. It was very like her father not to call, and they both knew it. Cassandra had faced up to the facts when she was ten years old, but her mother was still clinging to vain hopes and the faint memory of a time when her husband was a loving and faithful man.

"I don't know where he could be. Do you suppose they kept him late at the firm?"

Cassandra didn't know exactly where he was either, but she didn't have to. She knew enough of the basics to imagine. The restaurant and the hotel would both be picked carefully for two very specific characteristics: nice enough to impress, but not opulent enough to be familiar to anyone he knew or worked with.

The woman, whoever she was, would have the same qualities.

Normally Cassandra humored her mother, spending a moment or two pretending to ponder before remembering that dear old dad had mentioned some very important legal case which might keep him late today. Then Catalina would call herself a silly old woman, and say in a manner just a little too strained to be joking "Make sure you marry a good man, Cassandra, not one who will worry you the way mine does."

Tonight, however, Cassandra was in no mood. She had presents to get to, and groveling to receive.

"I haven't seen him mother, and I really don't have time to look. Has anything come for me?"

"Come for you? Did you order something dear?"

Cassandra realized with a sinking feeling that all her excitement had been for nothing.

"Never mind. Just tell me if anything does come, since you've decided to watch the door."

She swept off to her room, paying no attention to the hurt look that flashed across her mother's face. Maybe Jack was only waiting. Perhaps he thought she'd be too angry to accept his apology tonight. Or maybe he was taking the time to work up a really _big_ surprise. Yes, that must be it. Tomorrow he'd appear at her door with half a greenhouse and a custom-made bracelet, begging her for forgiveness or just one last kiss. She settled into bed with a sense of peace, confident in the knowledge that Jack would soon be kissing the ground at her feet. He was a man, after all.

And men would do anything for a pretty face.

8 8 8 8 8 8 8

The bad thing about being popular, Jack reflected as he stumbled out of bed, was that it made you an early riser. He glared at his alarm clock and it glared back, 10:00 AM staring him down as if daring him to challenge its malignant morningness.

_Morningness?_

Oh man, it was way too early to be thinking, even for an evil genius. Yawning and stretching, he began to get dressed. First Cassandra and now Chase; all this getting up before noon was going to kill him.

As he pulled on his socks, he wondered idly how Cassandra was doing. After her unfortunate incident the previous day, she had gone home in a bit of a huff. Jack couldn't really blame her; a high-voltage shock to the butt was enough to make anyone crabby. He'd tried to apologize, and gallantly offered to let her clean up in his restroom, but she hadn't wanted to hear it.

Truth be told, Jack was a little relieved. Once the mutual lust of their make-out session wore off, he was once again startled and a little worried by Cassandra's sudden desire to kiss him. It was fun, no doubt about it, but it raised questions about her feelings and his own proclivities that he really didn't want to deal with.

He shrugged off his thoughts with a sigh as he tugged on his boots. There was nothing he could do about Cassandra and the confusion she caused, and today wasn't about her anyway.

Today was about Chase.

As he stepped outside and activated his heli-pack, Jack was awed all over again. He was going to visit Chase Young. No, he was going to _train _with Chase Young, at the man's own invitation! Years of idolatry and dreams were finally paying off.

Anticipation and rush of flight woke him up completely, and excitement made the journey to the dragon lord's lair take forever and no time at all. All too soon -but nowhere near soon enough- he landed on the lip of the monstrous volcano that Chase called home.

Jack knocked timidly on the door, prepared to once again be squished to a whimpering pulp by the heavy stone slab. Instead, it swung smoothly open, revealing the graceful pavilions at the center of Chase's domain. He stepped smartly forward, and then froze as low growl issued from the large black panther sitting just inside the doorway.

Jack grinned nervously and it growled again, lips curling back to show long white teeth as it surveyed him with cool disdain.

"Umm . . . I was invited this time. I promise. Chase wants to train me!"

The panther looked unimpressed and vaguely disbelieving, a feat which really should have been more difficult for a cat.

"He does! You can go ask him!" Jack crossed his arms, frowning with determination. He was not going to be scared away from a day with his idol by some oversized house pet!

The panther stood up and he jumped backwards with a squeal, sudden resolve forgotten. He'd been chewed on by the ferocious felines before, and he had no intention of repeating the experience if he could help it.

Jungle cats do not sigh, but Jack got the distinct impression that this one would have liked to. It gave him an exasperated look, then turned and walked away, paws making no sound on the stone. After a few steps it stopped, looked over its shoulder irritatedly, and twitched its tail in a manner reminiscent of a beckoning finger.

Jack, genius that he was, got the hint.

The panther led him through the halls of the lair, taking him through the throne room and down a series of passages that twisted through the mountain in serpentine tangles. They arrived at last at a small stone archway. The panther stopped, gave him a meaningful nod, and trotted off in a way that clearly said it had done its duty and was washing its paws of the matter. Deciding that he was just too damn good at reading cat emotions, Jack stepped through the archway and into a large room.

He almost had a heart attack when he saw what waited for him.

Chase stood in the middle of the floor, his back towards Jack. His long hair was lustrous as ever, glinting green as he flowed like water from pose to pose, muscles flexing enticingly. But what truly caught Jack's attention was his clothing.

He wore loose black pants, a deep red sash- and nothing else.

He turned and Jack's eyes went wide, taking in the flawless upper body of his idol and crush. Watching Chase walk was twice as exciting when he had half the clothes, and Jack was mesmerized by the sight of the gorgeous abs and strong shoulders usually hidden by armor. Chase didn't seem to notice as he greeted Jack. His expression was utterly calm, as though he walked around half-naked every day.

"I'm glad you're here, Jack."

Chase smiled at him, an occurrence so rare that Jack was momentarily distracted from his chest, then got right down to business.

"We're going to work on the basics. First, your stance."

Jack looked down at his feet, planted randomly on the floor. "What stance?"

"Exactly."

Chase smiled again, mockingly this time, but Jack was too dazzled to care.

"Look at my feet. Try to place yours parallel to mine."

Jack shuffled his feet, trying to get them into position and refrain from drooling at the same time.

"Pull your legs a little closer together. You're fighting, not giving birth."

Jack obeyed his instructions eagerly, still a little dazed. Not only was Chase frickin' Young teaching him to fight, but said man was teaching him to fight while _shirtless_. This was the best day of his life.

8 8 8 8 8 8 8

Chase's plan was very simple: Teach Jack a few tricks, lure him into the bedroom, and begin an entirely different kind of education. The lesson would ensure Jack was in a good mood, and there was nothing like battle to heat the blood.

Not that his needed much heating.

Jack was frustratingly hopeless as a fighter, and had it been anyone else Chase would have thrown them out within a few minutes. But every time he became annoyed, something restored his good humor. Maybe it was the way Jack followed his orders without question. Perhaps it was his own sense of patience, blossoming late.

Or maybe it had something to do with the enticing ways Jack's body moved at his instruction.

As he watched Jack attempt to follow his orders, Chase found himself observing all kinds of things he'd never bothered to notice before. Things like the way Jack cocked his head slightly to the left when concentrating, or the small, faint scar just above his elbow, half-hidden by the mesh of his sleeve.

What he noticed most, however, was the fascinating game of peek-a-boo Jack's clothes were playing. The snug trousers clung to the curve of Jack's ass in a way Chase longed to imitate, and his shirt kept riding up to reveal glimpses of pale flesh. Chase wasn't letting it go to waste; he'd been taking every chance he could get to put his hands on the lovely boy, under the pretense of guiding his efforts. Every stolen caress made his desire for Jack burn a little hotter, and watching Jack try to hide his own arousal amused him to no end. Within minutes of his arrival Jack had become comically flushed and sweaty.

Speaking of which, Jack was positively _dripping_ now, and he seemed to be having trouble standing upright, not to mention breathing. Chase tried to keep a rein on his contempt. Already Jack was exhausted, and they had only been practicing, not even sparring.

_Pathetic_, Chase thought. _As short a time as we've been working, he should_- Chase stopped himself. How long _had_ they been working, exactly?

His eyebrows and his opinion of Jack rose simultaneously as he realized the time. Chase knew his own worth, and he knew that imitating him for this long would have taken a toll on much better fighters than Jack.

It was a rare man indeed who could train with Chase Young for _four hours_ and not be tired.

And frail little Jack had done it, without question or complaint, while being terribly and subtly teased. Perhaps it was time to move on to the next of today's activities.


	8. Seduction

This was the worst day of Jack's life.

It wasn't all bad; Chase had turned out to be a surprisingly patient teacher, and Jack had learned some valuable lessons. They were playing a kind of martial arts follow-the-leader, Chase demonstrating a move and Jack mimicking it the best he could. Then Chase would point out his mistakes, and they would practice again until he managed a tolerable try.

Unfortunately, he was completely exhausted while Chase was still going strong. He couldn't ask for a break; what if Chase became disgusted with him again for being so weak? So he was pushing himself past his limits, ignoring the sweat pouring from his body and the way his muscles screamed when he moved.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Jack had been absolutely stunned when Chase touched him for the first time, whereas Chase seemed to take it as a matter of course, casually correcting his posture or the movement of his limbs. They were innocent touches, none of them designed to tease, but they were driving Jack crazy. His body, not caring that this wasn't the time or place, was irredeemably aroused within five minutes of his arrival.

He was terrified that Chase would notice. If the warlord realized that Jack was attracted to him, he would probably kick Jack out- or simply kill him on the spot. Either way, it was in his best interest not to let Chase know about his recently discovered feelings. But it seemed like every time fatigue (or frantically picturing Master Fung in a bikini) managed to calm him down, Chase would flex that glorious body in a way that made his pants slide dangerously low. Or worse, strong hands would gently push Jack's thighs apart as Chase instructed him to widen his stance. It didn't help that, due to his preoccupation, the names of the moves Chase demonstrated all seemed slightly dirty. Monkey Swallowing Bananas turned his thoughts in very unhelpful directions, and he almost fainted when Chase said it was time to learn the Ride The Dragon Thrust.

So he was very relieved when Chase announced a halt, instructing Jack to follow him. Jack tagged along behind as Chase led him back through the labyrinthine passageways. He didn't ask where they were going, innate curiosity for once numbed by complete exhaustion.

Their circuitous route ended at a small walled courtyard. A waterfall flowed down one wall, emerging from the rock to fall softly into a large stone pool. Steam shimmered above the surface of the water, and Jack thought sluggishly that it looked kind of like a hot tub. It would be awfully nice to jump in and . . . .

_Oh crap_. _Oh double crispy crap on a stick._

"Um, Chase?" Jack's voice emerged as a high squeak. "What exactly are we doing?"

Chase looked over his shoulder, expression amused. "We're soaking. Something you will appreciate tomorrow, when you are still able to move."

"But . . . I don't have any swim trunks. And these aren't exactly the best clothes for it."

"Then don't wear them."

And without further ado, the already shirtless warlord turned back to the pool and removed his pants. Jack's jaw dropped as cloth hit the floor, and he thanked any higher powers that might be listening with all his black little heart.

Chase Young, god of sexy evil, was not wearing underwear today.

He stared at the warlord's smooth, supple flesh, all thoughts of exhaustion and awkwardness dropping away as though they had never existed. Exclamation points flashed and whirled in his brain, but only two thoughts came through with any clarity:

_Chase is naked. Oh my god, Chase is naked. _

And: _That is one fine ass._

Suddenly Chase turned, and Jack abruptly jerked his gaze upwards as his cheeks turned a color that rivaled his hair. Chase smirked as if he knew exactly what Jack was thinking, and the blush took on all the fiery radiance of a sunset.

"Do you need me to undress you?"

"W-what?" His brain froze entirely at that, and his heart started beating double time to compensate.

"Do you need my assistance to remove your clothing? I know you're in pain, but I thought you would be able to cope."

"Oh." Irrational disappointment flooded him, and he mentally shoved it aside.

"Um, no, it's just that I'm not entirely comfortable with getting . . . unclothed."

As tempting as getting into a hot bath with the object of his adoration was, Jack knew it was a bad idea. He was going crazy just looking at the man; if he got naked there was no way Chase wouldn't notice something was up . . . quite literally.

"Oh?" Chase's voice took on a dangerous tone. "Are you rejecting my guidance already?"

"No! Of course not! I just-"

"Then do as I say. I will turn my back, since you are feeling modest, but I expect you to join me in no less than one minute. You're of no use to me if you're too sore to move."

He turned away once more and stepped into the pool. Left with no other choice, Jack hastily began to strip. _Oh well, _he thought as he peeled off the clingy leather pants. _I have to die sometime. And as death goes, this isn't so bad. _

At least in hell he'd have the glorious memory of Chase naked to comfort him.

8

Chase sat comfortably on the shallow stone ledge that ran along the sides of the pool, his arms stretched out along the edges. His hair floated on the water like spilled ink, and he smiled like a crocodile as he listened to Jack's frantic efforts to divest himself of clothing.

When he heard Jack hesitantly approach, he leaned back and closed his eyes, giving Jack time to enter the water unobserved. It was a very vulnerable position, had he thought about it; normally he wouldn't have exposed himself so. But he was busy anticipating his first sight of that bare body, and the thought that Jack might attack him didn't even cross his mind.

A slight ripple ran through the water as Jack slipped into the pool. Chase opened his eyes ever so slightly, the barest hint of bronze peeking out from behind dark lashes. Jack didn't notice; his own eyes were focused on the warlord's body as he huddled on the opposite side of the stone bath, knees drawn up and encircled by his arms.

At the sight of his awestruck face and bare skin, Chase's patience snapped. Subtle maneuvering be damned! He wanted to touch Jack _now_.

"Jack."

His voice was soft, but Jack jumped like a gunshot had gone off.

"Yeah?"

"Come here."

"Why?"

"Because I wish it."

"Umm . . . do I have to?"

Chase didn't reply, merely raised his head looked steadily at the apprehensive boy.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes."

"Most wise of you."

Chase leaned back again, once more pretending to close his eyes.

8

Jack uncurled himself and walked hesitantly through the water. Chase sounded frustrated, but he didn't seem upset; he was leaning calmly against the edge of the pool, arms spread and eyes closed, the picture of contented relaxation. But Jack's paranoid side was certain it was a ruse, that Chase was pretending calm in order to lure him into crushing range. It was unlikely; Chase could kill him any time, so why pretend? And even if he was plotting Jack's imminent demise, it didn't matter. Jack could no more disobey than he could fly without a heli-pack.

He gave a sudden squeak as Chase's hand shot out, confirming all his suspicions. He went limp and unresisting as Chase grabbed him, certain he was about to be subjected to large amounts of pain. Then the world spun dizzily for a moment and water splashed as he was whirled around and plopped firmly down on Chase's lap.

When the wobbly world steadied, he realized he was actually perched on Chase's knees, which made him both relieved and slightly disappointed.

"Relax. I have no intention of hurting you."

"Oh. That's nice of you," Jack replied faintly. _I'm sitting on Chase Young. _"Mind if I ask what exactly you _are_ going to do?"

Chase's hands brushed across his back, then began rubbing gently at his shoulders.

"I told you that you were of no use to me if you were too sore to move. I'm making sure you won't be."

Jack sat frozen with astonishment and wonder as Chase Young, Prince of Evil and Dragon of Doom, gave him a shoulder rub.

It was actually a very good shoulder rub. The combination of strong hands and warm water was extremely soothing, melting away his tension and pain. The only drawbacks were that Chase couldn't reach his entire back from this angle, and . . . well . . . to be completely honest, Chase had very bony knees.

Still, sitting naked on Chase Young's lap while getting a back rub was the closest to heaven that Jack had ever been, and he wasn't about to complain.

Then Chase's hands moved down, rubbing gently at his arms, then his sides, before sliding down to his legs. Jack was panting when Chase started on the outsides of his legs, and when he reached between them to rub his thighs it was all Jack could do not to spread his legs and beg Chase to take him then and there. He could not, however, suppress a shiver of lust, and he stiffened in fear as Chase paused in his ministrations. A dark chuckle close to his ear did nothing to put Jack at ease, and he tensed further as Chase laughed.

"Are you so very eager for me?"

The feeling of Chase's lips against his ear was a potent distraction, and it took Jack a long moment to realize what had been said.

"You . . . you know?"

Terror swamped him, the certainty of death filling him with terrible swiftness. But Chase only laughed again at the fear and surprise in Jack's voice, and reached downward unexpectedly to palm Jack's erection.

"Of course I know. You made rather obvious, after all." He stroked Jack's length, proving his point, and Jack groaned and pushed his hips forward, straining for more of the delicious friction, shock washed away by the unexpected pleasure.

"And you're not going to kill me?" he gasped, losing his focus as Chase's hand sent waves of pleasure through him. He was clearly bewildered, radiating a mixture of fear, confusion and lust that made Chase's inner dragon writhe in anticipation.

"Why would I hurt you?"

"You hate me. You've always - oh!"

Chase slid a fingernail across Jack's nipple, effectively ending his sentence.

"I don't hate you." He purred, inwardly marveling at Jack's naivety. Only he could have remained completely oblivious for so long!

"I invited you to my home, I taught you - and I have you naked on my lap."

Chase shifted his hips, proving his statement, pulling Jack further onto his lap as he did so. Jack gasped as Chase's arousal rubbed against him, and Chase drew one step closer to losing control at the feel of that smooth, sweet skin on his most sensitive part.

"You've grown, Jack. You're formidable- and beautiful."

He brushed his lips against Jack's ear, whispering coaxingly. "Let me show you how beautiful you are. Let me give your body the pleasure it deserves."

Jack, lost in pleasure already, didn't even bother to think about refusing. The only answer he could manage was a moan, but judging from Chase's growl of satisfaction it was enough. There was a sudden flash of cold and darkness, mixed with the unmistakable sensation of magic. Then the courtyard was gone and he was lying on something dry and soft, looking upwards at Chase's sharp grin, water dripping from them both onto the softest blanket Jack had ever felt.

Any other time, he might have reveled in the silky softness, but then Chase was kissing him, lips moving firmly against his mouth, desperation burning through them both. The heat between them melted the world, reshaping it into a new dimension of urgency and lust.

Chase pressed against him, their lips fused, fighting to get closer even though they were already so close it hurt. His tongue entered Jack's mouth, and Jack moaned as fire flashed through him, sinking into his skin and making it sensitive to every brush of Chase's body against his. It felt like they could melt into each other, and Jack hoped they did, so the delicious closeness would never have to end.

Time spun dizzily, the heat between them blurring the lines between one moment and the next. Jack gasped as Chase knelt on the bed, Jack's heel in his cupped hand, tongue moving silkily against the bottom of Jack's foot. It was a ridiculous place to lick, but Jack didn't care, couldn't care, because each damp caress was an exquisite revelation about the sensitivity of feet.

Then Chase was kissing up his legs, nipping at his thighs, lapping gently at his balls, and Jack's breath caught in his chest as that silky hair fell across his hips and Chase delicately licked a drop of pre-come from the head of his cock. Jack's back curved upward of its own volition as Chase's mouth descended, and he thrust desperately into the moist, heavenly heat, begging incoherently for the release he could feel building inside him.

It was less pleasant when Chase's finger slipped unexpectedly into him, coated in something cool and slippery, but a sinful twirl of Chase's tongue made Jack forget to care. Then he flipped dizzily, finding himself suddenly on all fours as something large and blunt forced its way inside him. Jack squeaked, flinching away from the pain, but Chase murmured to him soothingly, whispering sweet nothings and gasping in guilty pleasure when Jack flinched.

Determined to do his best for Chase, Jack endured, whimpering only slightly even when Chase began to move within him, making Jack wince with every thrust. Then Chase hit something inside him, something that sent an explosion of fireworks ricocheting through every part of his body and pushed his brain past the edge of sanity. All at once he was gasping, throwing himself backwards again and again, howling with joy as Chase's every thrust pressed that magical spot. The bed shook under them, moving with the force of their lust as Jack begged him to deeper, harder, faster, _please_.

Chase's hair swept across his skin, moving as they moved, still damp with the water they bathed in. The silky counter-tempo brush only heightened his pleasure. He should have been in heaven, but there was a nagging feeling of incompleteness. He had an almost tangible longing to feel Chase's teeth in his skin, a desirous ache where those fangs should be. He needed to be bitten almost as badly as he needed Chase to keep fucking him.

"Chase." The word was a choked puff of air, but Jack continued, struggling for clarity. "Bite me, please, I need you- yes! Oh god, yes!"

Even before the sentence was finished, Chase's teeth sank into him, the pain a beautiful contrast that made the pleasure more than he could bear. He could feel his lover moaning into his skin, tongue licking wildly as his those glorious fangs pressed into his flesh.

Then Chase stiffened, head snapping up, his hands clenching so hard into Jack's hips that his nails left a line of red crescent moons across Jack's snowy skin. The he roared, frighteningly savage an unbelievably loud. Inside him, Chase was suddenly, impossibly bigger, and fresh pain flashed through Jack as his body struggled to adjust. For a long moment Jack didn't understand, couldn't comprehend why Chase's nails felt like claws and his skin felt like smooth metal instead of soft flesh.

He didn't get it until he looked back, under his own shaking body, past his throbbing erection, to the place where a reptilian tail thrashed from side to side in ecstasy.

Dimly, Jack knew he should be scared, or surprised or even disgusted, but even as he decided he was too high to care, a serpentine tongue licked across the sensitive shell of his ear. That final bit of simulation was too much and he came, screaming, as the dragon above him roared in triumph.

8

Chase had intended to impress Jack, blow him away with skill and passion, and leave him so satisfied he was incapable of refusing the offer of more. He had not expected this much ardor in himself, never considered he might be caught so thoroughly in his own trap. He was a thin thread away from insanity, and growing closer with every sound Jack uttered, every clenching of the tight passage around his cock.

Then Jack begged to be bitten, offering up the ultimate act of submission, and Chase couldn't resist. He had the barest moment to taste that pearly skin before the change slashed through him, undeniable in its ferocity. He didn't try to fight it, didn't try to quench the burning in his skin as his dragon nature ripped its way free of his human form. He embraced the change, throwing his head back with a roar as spines burst from his back and his skin hardened into scales. His self-control was in tatters, but he didn't stop to care as he plunged recklessly into Jack's body. He abandoned himself to pleasure, one clawed hand reaching out to carve a row of furrows through the sheets and deep into the mattress.

He licked Jack's ear, longing for another taste, and Jack cried out, clenching around him. Chase could smell his orgasm on the air, feel it in Jack's blissful shudder, and hear it in the beautiful sounds he made at the moment of climax. Taken altogether, the knowledge was an erotic assault, and Chase didn't stand a chance. His tail cracked like a whip as he shuddered, hard, emptying himself into his gorgeous mate.

There was a long moment of stillness, the peaceful aftermath of violent motion, and Chase struggled to catch his breath. Jack collapsed beneath him, insensate with exhaustion, and he was filled with a strange sense of pride as he looked at the marks of his passion on Jack's splayed limbs.

He rolled Jack gently over and settled him on the mattress, tucking blankets around him. Jack's eyes were already fluttering closed, his overworked body dragging his mind after it into the tender oblivion of sleep.

Chase curled around him, one clawed hand brushing carefully through soft red hair and a curious smile on his draconic snout.


	9. Awakening

Jack's sleep faded into wakefulness so gently he didn't realize when it happened. He only gradually became aware that he was warm, wrapped in a soft cottony cloud, someone's arm around him and someone's warm breath whooshing softly against his face.

Then he opened his eyes, and had a heart-stopping moment of pure terror. A draconian snout hovered two inches from his face, and two large golden eyes peered down at him with amusement. Chase was reclining on the bed, lying on his side, supported by one bent fore-limb. The other was draped across Jack, holding him close to the long, scaly body. The end of Chase's black-striped tail lay across his feet.

"Good morning Jack."

Chase's voice was somewhere between a purr and a hiss, and Jack's heart leaped at the approval and warmth it contained. As Chase grinned down at him, however, the sight of so many gleaming teeth gave terror a definite edge.

Jack's hasty "Good morning" came out as a squeak, nervousness turning the statement into a question. Chase nodded, misinterpreting his terrified inflection.

"Yes. The day ended while we were. . . occupied, and you slept through the rest of the night."

Jack's face turned beet red as he remembered the particulars of that occupation, and a momentary feeling of vertigo hit him as disbelief and elation collided. Chase smiled at his blush, and Jack flinched back as even more teeth were added to the equation.

Chase cocked his head to one side, bemused. "Are you frightened of this form? You had no such qualms last night. . ." His tail flicked gently where it lay across Jack's feet, and Jack blushed with renewed vigor at the memories stirred by the movement. "I will change if it pleases you, however."

His body rippled and shrank, and the bed gave a sudden creak as most of the weight on it abruptly disappeared. The sudden reduction in size and teeth helped Jack regain a wary sense of normality, though this was anything but normal. Conscious of the way Chase was snuggled against him and the arm still draped across him, Jack summoned his courage and asked the question currently hovering at the back of his mind.

"So . . . does that happen often?"

What Jack meant by 'that' was everything: The sudden shift in Chase's feelings, the training, the back rub and the sex. Especially the sex. But Chase, preoccupied as he was with a question of his own, once again mistook Jack's meaning.

"Never," he replied, thinking of his uncontrolled change. "I've never simply lost control like that before. But then," he grinned wryly, thinking of their earth-shakingly good late night activities, "I've never felt quite that way before."

Lost in his musings, the normally perceptive warlord didn't notice the look of hopeful joy that flashed across Jack's face.

"So we're going to be doing this a lot then?"

Chase turned his focus back to Jack, who was looking up at him with an expression so wide-eyed and hopeful it was all Chase could do not to ravish him again. But Jack was bound to be sore at the moment, and there was one little matter Chase wanted to clear up first.

"If you wish to be my lover, then that can be arranged. But there are conditions which must be met. Firstly, you will be mine alone. That means there will be no more dallying with your little female."

Jack, who had been nodding fervently in agreement with Chase's declaration, paused with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Female?" Jack's voice was thoroughly confused, causing Chase no end of satisfaction. Already he had convinced Jack to forget her!

"The one you were with the day I called for you. I'm sure she's amusing enough, but she can't possibly compare to _me_."

Jack stiffened in his arms, and Chase realized his mistake a second too late.

8

Chase's arrogant little declaration scattered Jack's bliss to the winds and left a very disturbing realization in its place.

"You seduced me because of _Cassandra_?"

"Her proximity may have . . . alerted me to how suitable a lover you would be."

Chase, who had never gone to the trouble of comforting an upset paramour before, said precisely the wrong thing. His careful language only served to fuel Jack's suspicion, and his temper ignited as he looked at Chase's sudden behavior in a whole new light. Pain washed through him before it was eclipsed by a rising tide of rage.

"You don't care for me at all, do you?" he spat, suddenly furious. "I'm just a toy you didn't want until somebody else picked it up."

He sprang from Chase's arms, moving furiously to the other side of the bed, eyes blazing. He had borne years of abuse with a hopeful fanboy smile, done his best to become someone Chase would like, freaking _slept _with him, and this was what he got?

Fuck that.

Chase sat stunned in the face of Jack's fury. He had seen Jack frightened, obsequious, arrogant and joyful, but he had never before seen the boy well and truly enraged.

"This was all just a ploy. The polite conversation, the training- you wanted to use me and then go back to ignoring me." Jack's voice was ice tipped with hatred. "That crap about me being beautiful was just that; crap. Flattery to keep me complacent."

Jack's voice softened, wrath replaced with hurt. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. "That's it, isn't it?" He sniffled, and unexpected guilt swept through Chase like an avalanche, freezing all his carefully chosen lines. He hadn't meant to go back to ignoring Jack, but he had no intention of forming an emotional attachment either.

"I don't want to be a toy, Chase. Not even for you. And leave Cassandra out of this. It's not her fault she actually cares." Jack clambered clumsily out of the bed, tear-blinded and stiff-muscled. Chase had time to stop him, time to persuade him, time to say a thousand cutting things as Jack dressed and left the room.

Instead he sat like a stone, watching silently as Jack walked away.


	10. A New Day

A/N: Thanks again to **ZombieMinion**, for her continued support.

8 8 8 8 8 8

The sun rose over China, bathing the world in a soft golden glow. Warmth woke the birds, who whistled cheerfully in the trees, inviting the rest of the world to look at the beautiful sunrise. For some it was the beginning of a new day, time to make breakfast or go to work. For some it was an ending, time at last to finish the long night and go to bed. And for others, it was merely the slightly brighter continuation of a day already well begun.

The Happy Heart café welcomed them all, and the waiters and waitresses scurried busily around patrons who gestured energetically at each other over their bowls of congee or slumped sleepily as they dipped yu za kuie into bowls of soymilk.

As the sun ascended, light flooded into the building, illuminating sleepily swirling dust motes and the clouds of fragrant steam that drifted from the kitchen every time someone opened the door. It sparkled in coat buttons and hair clips, and on the startlingly blonde hair of a lone man sitting at a corner table. A stack of files sat on the round wooden table in front of him, accompanied by a cup of half-drunk coffee and a plate of crumbs that had once been pork buns.

Bobby smiled inwardly as he flipped through the file before him, suffused with the certainty that this was going to be an absolutely wonderful day. The sun was shining, he'd just had a great breakfast, and he was about to get just the most _fabulous_ bonus from his little side job.

Bobby's side job had begun as something of a fluke; his natural curiosity and friendliness, always helpful for building a rapport with customers, had eventually translated into a knack for learning their secrets. His sunny cheer and perceptive nature enabled him to become an instant best friend to most of his clients, and eventually he won over even the toughest cases. They would pour out their woes as he styled their hair, recount their triumphs as he fitted their shoes, and tell him the funny thing that so-and-so had done as he helped them pick out the perfect earrings.

Occasionally, one woman or another would look back at their conversations and wonder if she'd said too much, but most never worried. Bobby was such an attentive listener, and if he liked to indulge in gossip, what was the harm? He was only a fashion adviser, after all- who could he tell?

As it turned out, Bobby could tell a lot of people. As gossipy client after gossipy client began to ask him for juicy news, Bobby began to realize there was always someone who wanted to know what he knew, and those people were usually willing to make it worth his while. It began with mere exchanges of gossip, trading one story for another, and ended with lucrative arrangements to find out certain things for certain people. He had, for a nominal fee, participated in countless attempts to embarrass rivals, break up couples, or blackmail bosses. He spun with deft skill a network of gossip and not-so-confidential conversations, hunting down scandal and selling it for a profit. The only thing he didn't do was direct blackmail. Bobby's first and only attempt at do-it-yourself extortion had ended with some hasty packing and a one-way trip to China, which had taught him the hard way to stay behind the scenes.

Despite its dangers, his business on the side was an endlessly convenient way to fund some of his wilder fashion ventures. In addition, Bobby was slowly saving up the capitol necessary to start his own clothing line. It was his dream to bring fashion to the masses, to see his creative genius asserting its rightful influence on designs all over the world. He was gathering the funds to build his empire, one dirty little secret at a time.

And as dirty little secrets went, Jack Spicer had been a purely unexpected windfall. His mother was one of Bobby's best customers, as well as an excellent source of news, but he hadn't been expecting much in the way of gossip from the anti-social teenager he'd understood Jack to be. Then Jack had made his revelation, clueing Bobby into the fact that he was the only person besides the boy himself to know that Jack was gay. That alone would have been lucky, but almost immediately afterward he had learned that Cassandra Allen was _very_ interested in finding out any little particulars she could about Jack. Bobby wasn't sure exactly what her motivations were, but information this big was bound to be worth something.

His conscience gave a little twitch as he thought about just how thoroughly he was throwing Jack to the lions. Whatever Cassandra did with the information, it probably wouldn't stay secret for long. When word got out, Jack would be gossiped about and ostracized, doubly so for being albino _and _gay. It really wasn't fair; Jack seemed like such a sweet kid, so innocent and naïve . . .

Bobby gave himself a mental shake and swept the guilt from his mind. This opportunity was too good to pass up for the sake of some random kid who thought they were friends. Bobby closed the file firmly and flagged down a passing waiter. He was going to order more coffee, loiter here until it was late enough to make social calls, and above all _not feel guilty_.

Today was about the money.

8 8 8 8 8

Jack's anger was all that kept him on his feet as he left Chase's room, marching stiffly through the halls of the lair. He wasn't sure where he was, and for a horrible moment he thought he might have to go back into that silent bedroom and ask Chase for directions. He soon found a corridor he recognized however, and was able to make his way into the more public areas of the lair. Chase's cats watched him as he went, some bright-eyed and clearly curious, others yawning in apathetic indifference.

His anger was fizzling out when he stepped at last out onto the face of the mountain, the wind whipping wildly through his hair and the rising sun blazing in his unadjusted eyes. As he squinted down at the world below, Jack thought for a bleak moment about simply stepping off the porch and letting gravity carry him down. It would be an easy end to all his problems . . . but Chase's face popped into his head, wearing an arrogant smirk, and anger sparked in him again. It would make Chase so smug to know that Jack had killed himself. It would probably be proof to that arrogant bastard that death was better than life without him.

Fuck that.

Jack was well and truly angry again, and he was good god damned if he was going to give Chase the satisfaction. He wasn't going to cry either, or mope, or feel bad at all. He was going to get out and do something! Go somewhere! Cheer himself up!

As if in reply, his backpack began to beep and vibrate gently. It was the built in shen-gong-wu detector, telling him that a new shen-gong-wu was active and up for grabs. Jack smiled grimly as he activated his heli-pack and leaped into the sky.

Today, he was gonna kick ass.

8 8 8 8 8

"This is so not cool," Kimiko groused.

"Oh come on Kim, it's not so bad." Raimundo replied cheerfully from below her.

"Your jabbity-jibber is not helping us to complete our task," Omi called cheerfully from above them both.

The monks stood stacked on each other, forming four stories of a wobbly tower, which swayed from side to side as the individuals in it shifted. Clay was the base, standing firmly on his own two feet, arms crossed as he held up the whole structure. Next was Raimundo with his feet on Clay's shoulders and his legs spread wide to avoid crushing the brim of Clay's hat, which no one had thought to ask him to take off. Raimundo's arms were stretched upward, and Kimiko's feet rested in his palms. Raimundo, judging from the grin on his face, was quite happy about this. Kimiko, judging by the glower on hers, was not. She grumbled under her breath as she supported an oblivious Omi, who held a bucket in one hand and a brush in the other as he happily varnished one of the beautiful wooden carvings on the corner of the temple roof.

The reason for Kimiko's bad mood was partially their current task and partially Raimundo, but mainly her outfit. For reasons no one dared to question, Kimiko had recently become very interested in gothic fashion. Her nails were painted black, her lipstick was far too red, and her clothes were getting progressively darker. Her current ensemble consisted of a leather skirt, strategically ripped sheer tights, and a skull-bedecked halter top.

It was the most impractical outfit possible for temple varnishing.

She had quickly been forced to remove her shoes, high-heeled black boots, because balancing in them was somewhere on the far side of impossible. And her head-to-toe black, stylish though it was, soaked up light like a sponge, causing Kimiko to sweat heavily under the newly-risen sun. Worse than both of these, however, had been the realization that Raimundo could see up her skirt- and was taking full advantage. She had already knocked the group down twice by attempting to kick him in the face, which didn't even put a dent in his cheerful lecherousness.

As much as it sucked, Kimiko had no intention of changing clothes. Master Fung had already initiated two quite conversations about how unsuitable her clothing was for the duties of a monk, and Kimiko had told him as politely as she could to mind his own business. This was almost certainly retaliation, and she was damned if she was going to bend. That wouldn't stop her from complaining, however.

"Remind me," she growled, "why we can't use ladders to do this? Or shen-gong-wu? Or even, here's a thought, our freaking _kung-fu skills_?"

"I reckon," Clay replied calmly, "that we're supposed to be learnin' a lesson about team work."

Raimundo shook his head.

"It can't be teamwork again already. We learned a lesson about that three days ago. Maybe it's balance?"

"Naw, we worked on that last week. Maybe it's the value of hard work?"

"Perhaps the lesson is that you must work for beauty?" Omi piped up, interested in spite of himself.

"No . . . how about 'even mystical temples require maintenance'?

"Varnish your wooden decorations yearly?"

"Monks give their apprentices stupid jobs?'

The possible lesson ideas flew thick and fast, getting less and less likely as they went, until at last Kimiko could stand no more.

"Will you guys just shut up so we can get this finished already?"

Omi looked down condescendingly from his perch on her shoulders.

"It is acceptable if you are having trouble understanding the lesson, Kimiko," he said soothingly. "Since you are merely a girl, we do not expect you to-"

Kimiko's temper snapped with an audible pop, and the monks went tumbling once again as she did her level best to get her hands around Omi's neck.

Clay, unperturbed by the ruckus, snagged her out of the air as she fell, simultaneously saving a lady from a nasty bump and preventing her from continuing her attempt to strangle Omi. Raimundo landed on his back with a thump and a puff of dust, the wind knocked completely out of him. It didn't help when Omi, the last to land, bounced off Raimundo's stomach, flipping back into the air before twisting to land on his feet.

The varnish bucket, now mostly empty, clattered to the ground a few feet away, spattering the grass with the last of the varnish. Omi looked at it for a moment, then turned back to his friends.

"I believe the lesson here," he said sadly, "is to never varnish with a girl."

There was a moment of utter stillness in the courtyard as Kimiko's face took on an expression that could only be described as "imminent death".

They were saved from the impending massacre by the arrival of a very excited Dojo, whose left arm sported a boil the approximate size and color of a large tomato.

"We got a live one kids!" His boil throbbed visibly, as if to prove his point, and Dojo winced. "And if the pus leaking from this thing is any indication, it's close!"

Kimiko's face twisted in disgust at his remark, but she didn't waste time talking about it. She led the way as the monks hastily gathered in the room containing the magic scroll. Dojo unrolled it as the monks clustered around him, eager to know which shen-gong-wu had revealed itself.

"The Wok of Yi Ting?" Kimiko read incredulously. "Dashi made a _wok_ into a shen-gong-wu?"

The illustration on the scroll showed a figure carrying what appeared to be a large bowl. But instead of leaping about in way that showed the wu's power, as the figures usually did, it simply stood, motionlessly holding the bowl.

"The Wok of Yi Ting," Dojo said, ignoring Kimiko's question, "can carry any substance, no matter how hot, without melting or burning the user's hand. Meaning you could carry around a bowl full of lava, if you for some reason wanted to."

"Okay dudes, I am completely confused," Raimundo interjected. "What the heck is a wok?"

"I believe," Clay drawled, "that a wok is somethin' you throw at a wabbit."

Raimundo simply looked at Clay as the joke flew over his head with a slight whistling sound. Clay sighed and began to explain.

"A wok is basically a big ol' pot with a round bottom. They're mostly used for making soup and fryin' different kinds of food. They allow for selective heatin' of your ingredients and efficient use of cooking oil. Usually woks are made outta cast iron, but now they make some of 'em out of steel."

As Clay talked, Raimundo's deadpan look slowly faded into one of disbelief.

"What? Cain't a cowboy know about cooking utensils?" Mildly embarrassed, Clay turned and pretended to earnestly study the scroll.

"I suppose," Omi said hesitantly, "that such a shen-gong-wu could be useful when battling the forces of darkness. Perhaps Dashi made it for fighting large, evil snow men?"

Dojo looked sheepish.

"Actually, if I remember it right, Dashi made it as a favor to the cook at this little dumpling place we used to go to. The things he could do with stir-fry-"

"So you know where it is this time?" Raimundo asked.

"Umm . . . well no, not exactly."

Kimiko sighed.

"Come on guys, let's go look for the magical soup pot. At least it can't be any worse than being here."

Those were, as anyone could have told her, famous last words.

8 8 8 8 8

The first clue that not all was as it should be at the Happy Heart café was the sudden lack of customers at the outside tables. This was a rare occurrence at the Happy Heart, where the line sometimes wound down the block and late-coming customers happily ate standing up.

The second clue was the quiet rush towards the door as the customers inside looked through the windows to find out where the customers outside had gone. In a matter of moments, the restaurant was empty save for a few brave employees and a blonde man who sat in the corner, oblivious to the world as he flipped through his files.

But even Bobby, guiltily preoccupied as he was, did not miss the third clue. He jumped, then stared in amazement as a dragon the size of a jumbo jet landed outside. It was a long moment before he could peel his gaze away from the shimmering green scales to look at the people sliding down from its back. Three were boys in some kind of uniform, dressed identically save for the large cowboy hat one wore. The fourth was a girl dressed, in Bobby's opinion, like a refugee from a punk rock concert. It was as if someone had taken her blindfolded to a goth store, then spun her around three times and asked her to pick out an outfit.

As Bobby pondered the strangers' fashion choices, the remaining restaurant employees girded for war. They stood in a group a few feet from the doors, clutching rolling pins and ladles, ready for action. They were led by a determined-looking woman in an apron, who carried a spatula in one hand and held a platter like a shield in the other.

The newcomers seemed to notice, and the cowboy said something to the dragon. The staff relaxed as the gigantic lizard shrank, diminishing to the size of a snake before hopping onto the cowboy's shoulder and disappearing into his hat.

Then they entered the restaurant, led by a short, bald child with a very large head.

8 8 8 8 8

"We come in pieces!" Omi shouted as soon as they walked through the door. Raimundo groaned and started to correct him, but Clay cut him off with a look and nodded at the wait staff, most of whom carried some sort of menacing kitchen implement.

"I think," he murmured quietly, "that you should let me handle this one, pardner."

Then he raised his voice, addressing the room at large.

"What my friend here means to say is that we're sorry to bust in on ya'll like this, and we don't aim to make any trouble, but we're here on an important mission. I'm Clay, and these are my pals Omi, Kimiko, and Raimundo. We're the Xiaolin Dragons."

"Ahem."

Dojo gave a pointed cough from inside Clay's hat before peeking out at the wide-eyed restaurant workers.

"An' this is Dojo Kanojo Cho, the dragon of the Xiaolin temple."

Dojo waved heartily, then ducked back into Clay's hat.

One of the staff members, a woman holding a platter and a spatula, looked them up and down and nodded firmly.

"I see."

She sat her weapons down gently on a nearby table and bowed politely to the monks.

"I am Jaiying. My family owns this restaurant. How can we help you?"

"It's a pleasure to meet you ma'am," Clay replied, bowing in return. "We believe there might be an important magical item here, an' it's our duty to take it to the temple and keep it safe."

Jaiying looked surprised, then thoughtful.

"I'm happy to help you search, but I can't imagine what such an item would be doing here. What does it look like?"

"It's about this big," Raimundo began, holding out his arms, "and looks like a glorified mixing bowl-"

"Never mind!" Dojo shouted suddenly from inside Clay's hat. "Just get ready, because here it comes!"

There was a resounding crash as the kitchen door flew open and slammed against the wall. Through it burst a wild-eyed Jack, squeaking in terror and clutching the Wok of Yi Ting for dear life. Close behind him followed a furious woman with a cleaver, cursing creatively enough to make a sailor blush and punctuating her remarks with furious jabs of her knife.

"Mother?" Jaiying gasped. "What on earth is going on?"

Jack, clearly operating under the principle of "any port in a storm", zigzagged through the startled employees and leaped for the monks. He slid behind Clay, gasping for breath and whimpering in terror.

"She's crazy," he panted. "Crazy as a cucumber. You guys gotta save me."

The crazy woman in question stopped, not willing to bowl down her family and the strangers in her efforts to get at Jack. She and Jaiying turned to each other and began talking excitedly, both attempting to get the other up to speed on what was happening.

"Monks from the Xiaolin Temple have come to us for help, and who are you chasing at a time like-"

"Crazy little thief, just ran into the kitchen and took my wok, and what do you mean monks, monks don't-"

As they talked, Raimundo addressed Jack, who was still cowering behind Clay.

"What makes you think we're going to protect you? You're evil! And seeing you get beaten up by a cook is gonna be hilarious. Ow! What the hell was that for?"

Kimiko, who had just stamped on Raimundo's foot, scowled at him before beaming down at Jack.

"Of course we'll help you, Jack. You just stay over here with me, and we'll . . . uh . . . talk about who gets the wu while Clay deals with that psycho."

"Now hold on a minute," Clay began. "That sounds about as sensible as tryin' to saddle a porcupine."

"What he said," Raimundo agreed. "What are you talking about Kim?"

Kimiko and Raimundo began squabbling, voices rising higher as Clay tried to calm them down and Omi reprimanded them for fighting.

"OH MY GOD!"

The shrill exclamation cut through the babble of voices, and both groups turned as one to the source of the noise. A slim, blonde man wearing a lilac sweater stood in the corner, staring at the monks in disbelief.

"_Jack_?" he squealed, bouncing towards them. "Is that you?"

"Bobby?" Jack straightened from where he had been crouched behind Clay, an equally stunned expression on his face. "What are you doing here?"

"Who's the fruitcake?" Raimundo interjected.

Bobby stopped bouncing and gave Raimundo a cold look.

"I'm his clothier. That's a fashion expert, since you've obviously never been to one."

"He's my friend," Jack snapped at the same moment. "And isn't being polite to civilians part of your job?"

"Actually, _this_ is my job."

Raimundo darted forward and kicked the shen-gong-wu out of Jack's grasp, sending it flying into the air. It seemed to hang suspended for a moment before plummeting back down. Jack and Raimundo leaped for it, arms outstretched. Jaiying's mother, who had begun edging closer as they bickered, lunged as well. Bobby, who didn't know what was happening but could tell the wok was important to Jack, reached for it too.

They all caught it at once, Raimundo and Jack glaring at each other over its curved sides as Bobby delicately clutched the greasy metal and the Jaiying's mother glowered indiscriminately at everyone else. Wasting no time, Jack shouted his challenge.

"Raimundo, I challenge you to a Xiaolin Showdown. My Changing Chopsticks against whatever it is you have."

"That would be the Woozy Shooter. But what about them?" Raimundo nodded at Bobby and the angry cook.

"Hang on, I'm working on it." They looked over to see Dojo leafing furiously through the rule book. "I know it's in here somewhere- ah, here we go! Special circumstances: Those who do not posses shen-gong-wu may participate in a showdown only if they grab a shen-gong-wu at the same time as those who do posses a shen-gong-wu, and have a vested interest in the outcome of a showdown," Dojo read. "Whew, that's a mouthful. Also, non-shen-gong-wu possessors may not take a direct role in the showdown, but may support their desired champion."

"So they can't win the wu, but they can help us?" asked Jack.

"Isn't that what I just said?" Dojo retorted. He turned to the cook, who still had a death grip on the Wok of Yi Ting.

"Madame, do you have a vested interest in the outcome of this showdown?"

"It's been in my family for generations," she spat furiously, "and I'm not letting this little thief take off with it- or a bunch of lizard-riding kids, either!"

"Well then." Dojo's tone was frosty, his feelings obviously hurt by the lizard comment. "I guess I'll consider that a yes."

He turned to Bobby. "What about you?"

"Do I get to kick his ass?" Bobby gestured to Raimundo.

"Well, there is a certain amount of tushy kicking at your average showdown."

"Then you bet your sweet boopy I'm interested."

"Works for me. Carry on kids." Dojo tucked away the rule book and returned to his perch on Clay's head.

"The game is Dumpling Dodgeball," Raimundo declared. "First to make it to the wok without getting hit wins. Xiaolin Showdown!"

The walls and floor rattled and rumbled as the restaurant reshaped itself. Dust rose, setting everyone to coughing, as the building's beams moved against each other. When the movement stopped and the dust settled, Jack and Raimundo stood atop a giant stove. Burners towered on either side of them, making a wide, clear aisle that ran to the other side of the stove, where Bobby and Jaiying's mother stood. Each was equipped with a cannon and a large stack of dumplings the size of cannon balls. The Wok of Yi Ting sat on the ground midway between them. Behind them, safely out of the line of fire, the rest of the monks and the wide-eyed restaurant staff were seated on the handle of a giant wooden spoon. Jasmine-scented steam drifted through the air, too thin to detract from visibility but hot enough that Jack felt a drop of sweat trickle down his back.

He and Raimundo waited impatiently as Dojo gave last-minute instructions to the uninitiated competitors.

"So Spicer, are you ready to lose?"

Jack snorted.

"Whatever, Xiaolin chump. You may talk the talk, but can you wok the wok?"

Raimundo laughed derisively.

"That was terrible. The only person worse at jokes than you is Omi."

A sharp whistle from down the stove alerted them that Dojo was through. In perfect unison they jumped forward, both yelling "Gong Yi Tanpai!", Jack activating his heli-pack as he did so. Almost immediately, the dumplings began smashing down. The cook, who was shooting at Jack, had a wickedly fast reload time. As soon as she shot one dumpling, another was halfway in, and Jack was kept on his toes as the missiles came thick and fast. Luckily for him, however, her aim was more than a little off. She seemed to be having trouble dealing with his ability to fly. Time and again she sent dumplings whizzing under his feet or several yards to either side. Jack quickly discovered that if he kept zigzagging, he could move in relative safety across the stove.

Raimundo was not so lucky. Bobby's dumplings were aimed with vicious accuracy, and it was taking all his hard-earned skill to evade them. No matter how he twisted and turned, the next missile always missed him by bare inches. He struggled to gain ground as he jumped forwards, backwards and sideways across the field. But there was a slight pause between each dumpling, and in those moments he poured on the speed, running as fast as he could towards the wok.

Neither Jack nor Raimundo bothered reaching for their shen-gong-wu. Jack knew that the Changing Chopsticks would be of little use in his current situation, and Raimundo realized that trying to use the Woozy Shooter would probably distract him just long enough to get hit. It was a close race, both contestants moving like greased lightning as they dodged dumplings and ran like hell. But Jack was making full use of his advantages, and he quickly gained a considerable lead.

For a shining moment, Jack saw his victory with utter clarity. The way the monks' eyes would pop wide with surprise, Raimundo's expression of defeat, his own arrogant grin of triumph . . .

But even as it flashed before his eyes, disaster struck. The cook, down to her last dumpling and knowing she couldn't hit Jack, grinned like a jackal and turned her cannon sideways. It was now pointed straight at the oblivious Bobby, who was still determinedly trying to hit Raimundo. Time seemed to slow down, the cook loading her dumpling in slow motion, as Jack realized what she intended and what a direct hit at that range would do to a man.

Then he was zooming forward again, passing the shen-gong-wu without even slowing down as he leaped for Bobby, sending them both tumbling to the ground. The deadly dumpling whizzed over their heads, the cook cursing again in thwarted rage. Raimundo, free from the lethal rain on Bobby's dumplings, leaped forward and grabbed the Wok of Yi Ting with a shout of glee.

Just like that it was over, their surroundings melting down to normal with disorienting suddenness. Jack found himself standing beside the monks, once again face-to-face with Raimundo. The denizens of the restaurant were likewise in a group, and Bobby sat at the table he had originally started at, hastily gathering up an armful of file folders.

Raimundo grinned at Jack, obviously about to make some kind of taunt, but Jack forestalled the attempt by reaching out and patting him heartily on the shoulder.

"Good game, Raimundo," he said with evident sincerity. "Very well played."

"I . . . umm . . . thanks dude," Raimundo stuttered, shocked into politeness.

Not waiting for him to recover, Jack walked across the room to Bobby. Behind him, a babble of voices were already raised as angry waiters demanded to know what had just happened and Jaiying's mother demanded her wok back _right_ _now_. Bobby, eyes shining with pure adrenaline, looked at Jack and spoke with understated calm.

"Honey, I think you owe me one hell of an explanation."

Jack, beginning to sink back into depression now that the showdown was over, merely shrugged.

"I'm a genius; explanations are my thing. And there are a lot of things I'd like to talk about. But can we do it somewhere else?"

Bobby looked past him at the growing fracas and nodded.

"Good idea. I don't want to be here when that gets even messier. Drama!"

"That and I stole the Changing Chopsticks from Raimundo when I patted him on the back. I'd rather not be here when he figures it out."

Bobby laughed, a genuine chuckle instead of his usual giggle, and linked his arm with Jack's.

"Come on, darling. I know the perfect place."

Arm in arm, they walked out of the Happy Heart café and into the shining day.


	11. Intrigue

Chase was meditating, trying to settle his emotions after the unexpectedly upsetting morning with Jack, when Wuya poked her exceedingly long nose through the wall and started screeching at him. It was rather foolish on her part; even at the best of times, her dealings with Chase were a balancing act. He was generally amused by her rudeness because she had nothing to back it up- but he didn't tolerate true disrespect even for a moment.

Today, however, Wuya was simply too pissed off to care. Chase, not wanting her to interrupt his time with Jack, had put up a magical shield around a few rooms of the palace the day before, effectively locking her in without explanation or warning.

Wuya had thoroughly elaborated on her displeasure, attempted to interrogate Chase about his motives, and complained for twenty minutes about his complete lack of interest in obtaining shen-gong-wu before he was able to summon the will to pay attention to her.

"You don't even go to most of the showdowns anymore! If I had a body-"

"We tried that, remember?" Chase interrupted at last, with mocking politeness. "When I grow bored enough to find your attempts to kill me amusing again, I'll help you get your body back, but right now I prefer your current form. It's not as though you did much good for evil with it anyway- unless you count entertaining Hannibal Bean."

"You insolent little brat! Are you implying that I-"

"Insulting you isn't insolent Wuya; it's a statement of fact. And I'm doing much more than implying that you whored your way into power."

"At least I know how to use power, instead of sitting about all day like a mopey child who's lost his favorite toy!"

It was pure bad luck that Wuya said what she did. She had no way of knowing that Jack had called himself a toy mere hours ago, or that the words were still echoing grimly through Chase's head. She only knew that the psychic temperature in the room suddenly dropped as Chase went from mild annoyance to cold rage. A cloud of dark magic formed behind her as she turned and fled, speeding through the walls of the mountain, flying as fast as she could to the relative safety of the outside world.

It wasn't fast enough.

8 8 8 8 8 8

"That bitch!"

Bobby and Jack were currently relaxing in a pair of lazy chairs in Bobby's apartment, drinking white peony tea while Jack explained his involvement with shen-gong-wu and the Xiaolin. Astounding as it all was, Bobby had been most surprised to learn that he'd almost been blasted by the vindictive cook.

"I didn't notice a thing! I'd like to go back there and give her a piece of my mind. She wants a wok, does she? I'll wok her so hard she can't see straight!"

Bobby, Jack had quickly found out, was very feisty when riled.

"But never mind that- this is just too exciting! All this secret running around, going to exotic places and enacting villainous schemes. . ."

He was also surprisingly unworried by Jack's criminal tendencies. When Jack had hesitantly confessed that he was firmly entrenched on the side of evil, Bobby had simply nodded.

"Yes, you mentioned being an evil genius when we met. I just didn't realize you could back it up!"

Then the conversation had moved on, Jack bewildered by the casual acceptance but happy that Bobby was taking everything in his stride.

Bobby, on the other hand, was a whirlpool of mixed emotion.

He was utterly astonished that Jack, who had seemed so clueless, was turning out to be so undeniably awesome. His entire life seemed to be a mix of spy movie and martial arts film. Jack made robots and cool gadgets, hobnobbed with monks and evil-doers, and jaunted across the world at the drop of a hat to fight for magical items in mystical contests. Never mind that he was a bad guy; Bobby wasn't hypocritical enough to condemn someone else for doing a little shady work, and he admired Jack's openness. He was intrigued and jealous at the same time, and for a moment just a little scared. If Jack was truly a genius, did he already know about Bobby's plan to sell his secret? Was he even now plotting to blast him with magic or feed him to a dragon?

After a tense moment, Bobby decided it was unlikely. If Jack wanted him gone, he wouldn't be here now, drinking tea and telling Bobby even more about his life. And he certainly wouldn't have given up his chance at a shen-gong-wu in order to save Bobby from death by dumpling.

It was this last thought that was making Bobby feel so off balance. Jack's recent revelations had opened up a world of opportunity. Although Jack didn't work very hard to hide his villainy, the news had never spread beyond those who hunted shen-gong-wu. Those kinds of people and Jack's kind of people just didn't mix, which meant that Bobby could sell this information to anyone who had ever wanted to embarrass the Spicer family. He could see the dollar signs piling up . . . but the guilt was piling up too. Jack would be crushed, poor kid- but then, hadn't Bobby just realized he wasn't a kid? Wasn't he, in fact, an experienced evil-doer? He probably knew how to handle being double-crossed. And if he'd been worried about keeping his secrets, he would have protected them more carefully, wouldn't he?

Bobby grew more cheerful as he found justification for his coming actions, still happily chatting away to Jack as he rationalized.

"And that guy you were chasing around is some kind of shape-shifting immortal? Honestly, I can't imagine how you found the courage to flirt with him!"

Bobby realized he'd said the wrong thing as Jack's face went from relaxed to wrecked in an instant. His smile was gone, and pain was etched across his face as he replied.

"Neither can I."

Bobby's cheerfulness changed to concern, and he leaned forward worriedly in his chair.

"Honey, did something happen?"

Jack hesitated. What if Bobby thought he was a slut, or just an idiot? But he had been so supportive about everything else . . .

"I slept with him," Jack blurted. "Last night. That's where I came from this morning."

Bobby's expression went from worried to ten shades of shocked, and Jack cringed.

"But that's wonderful! Or did he turn out to be really bad in the sack?"

Jack's reply was somewhere between a helpless laugh and a sob.

"No, it was . . . amazing. But he doesn't feel the way I feel. He doesn't care about me. And I feel like such an idiot for hoping, for thinking that he ever could . . ."

To Jack's horror he felt tears welling up in his eyes, and he tried desperately to hold them back, attempting to save the last shreds of his dignity. Then he stopped worrying about dignity and started worrying about breathing as a streak of blonde lightening darted across the room and wrapped him in a hug so tight Jack swore he felt a rib pop.

"You are _not _an idiot," Bobby told him sternly. "And I will tell you why not— just as soon as you tell me exactly what happened."

His tone brooked no argument, and Jack, enclosed in the first real hug he'd gotten in years, poured his heart out to the sympathetic clothier.

8 8 8 8 8

Chase washed his hands thoroughly, the water hot enough that an ordinary person would have been scalded. It was unnecessary; ghosts didn't bleed- at least not in the normal sense- so there was nothing on his hands. But the need to wash Wuya from his skin went beyond the flesh, and it gave closure to his fury.

Chase frowned, contemplating his anger. His emotions had been unsettlingly unstable lately, but he must be more upset than he had realized to lose control so swiftly and completely. _It's all because of Jack. If he wasn't so . . ._ The thought trailed off as a blend of guilt and longing swept through him. Case turned abruptly and walked away, the water behind him ceasing to flow as he strode towards the throne room.

He needed to meditate.

8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8

Eventually the sun sank, eclipsing the day's events with the coming of another night. A new morning dawned, and then another, time accumulating uneventfully as the sun rose and set.

The Xiaolin Monks had a surprisingly dull week. Most of the villains seemed to have vanished; Jack, Chase and Wuya were nowhere to be found, and new evil-doers rarely appeared without Jack to guide them. They caught Katnappe stealing a pair of sunglasses in a shopping mall, but she was out of costume and too startled to think of any cat-based puns. The monks spent most the week frustrated, doing mind-numbing chores without the excitement of battle. Kimiko especially was unhappy. Clay and Raimundo had ruined her chance at Jack, and she wanted another opportunity to cozy up to the evil genius. But where on earth was he?

8 8 8 8 8 8

Jack was in his basement. He'd been there for most of the week, throwing himself into his work and doing his level best to forget that Chase Young existed. He'd fixed every possible glitch in his robots, modified and upgraded until he couldn't see straight and even added "sarcasm" to the personality chips of a select few. They wouldn't be allowed to use that protocol on him, of course, but he looked forward to seeing the monks' faces the first time they were sassed by a Jackbot.

8 8 8 8 8 8

As the monks moped and Jack toiled, Chase's cats began to get worried. The warlord had been sitting on air in the throne room for days on end, motionless and silent. This in itself would not have worried them; Chase could meditate for weeks when the mood struck him. But at sunrise on the third day, Chase had abruptly shed his armor and shifted into dragon form, all without moving a muscle or opening his eyes. This was something they had never seen before, and most of them had been with Chase for thousands of years.

Those still human enough to care were intrigued. One optimistic lion expressed the opinion that Chase was dying, about to depart in a rush of dark magic that would set them all free. Others claimed he was growing more powerful, strengthening his magic by mentally communing with demons stronger than Hannibal Roy Bean. Not one of them guessed that, deep within himself, Chase was starting to admit his feelings for Jack.

8 8 8 8 8 8

In a lonely apartment high above the city, Bobby was also thinking about Jack. He had wavered all week, trying to decide whether or not to share what he knew, tempted by money and trying to rid himself of the nagging thought that he was betraying a friend. He sat staring out the window, weighing his feelings, trying to make a decision. Finally he stood, resolve firm, and walked purposefully to the phone.

8 8 8 8 8 8

At time progressed, Cassandra's impotent fury had cooled and sharpened into vicious determination. Jack obviously wasn't concerned about her, for all he wanted her. So Cassandra was going to skip seduction get his attention with a little leverage, something embarrassing enough that it would keep him with her whether he wanted to be or not. Then she would pay him back tenfold for her embarrassment, making his life a living hell until such time as she saw fit to release him. All she needed was the right secret.

In the next room a phone began to ring.

A/N: Ladies and (possibly) gentlemen, I have come to a decision. In the grand tradition of the UnitedStates in general and DC comics in particular, I'mgoing to do something tacky, silly, and distinctly unrefined: I'm going to hold a vote on whether or not to kill off a character.

I've gotten no few comments opining that Cassandra will be killed, and truth be told, I'm can see the story going either way. So I'm leaving it up to you. Leave a review stating whether you think Cassandra should live or die, and how you'd like to see her go if she does. A vote for "maimed but alive" is also acceptable. And if you want to comment on the story while you're voting, that would be nice. ;)


	12. Double Dealing

A/N: I realized today exactly how long it's taking me to finish this thing. Forever, that's how long. You guys should yell at me more. :P But really, we have two big plot twists and the climax, and then we're done. And I have a nice, small follow-up story written already! So don't desert me, I love you, have a nice day.

8 8 8 8 8 8 8

When Cassandra Allen received a call from a mysterious informant offering to tell her all about Jack Spicer, she expected to meet a dark, mysterious man in a clandestine back alley. He would make a secret signal, which she would return, then swiftly pass her a packet of secret files with one hand while pocketing his money with the other. They would nod curtly at each other and then go their separate ways, vanishing into the mist rising conveniently around them.

Instead, she was sitting in a comfortable armchair in a well-furnished apartment, sipping tea while a grinning blonde named Bobby dropped broad hints about the secrets he could tell her and tried to drive up the price. It was all very anti-climactic, and Cassandra was getting just a little irritated.

"Let's cut to the chase," she interrupted smoothly. "I not giving you any money until you give me information, and I won't know how much it's worth until I know what it is. So the sooner you quit stalling, the sooner you can have this."

She pulled a small stack of hundreds from her purse, the bills held together with a silver money clip. Her informant stared at it greedily, practically salivating. She could see his desire to chit-chat a little longer warring with the desire to grab the money. It wasn't long before money won.

"Right," he said, still staring at the cash. "What would you like to know first? The biggest news, I think, is that Jack is-"

BBRRRING!

A telephone began ringing in the next room, loud and insistent. Bobby grinned sheepishly.

"I probably need to get that. I'll be right back."

He stood and strode out of the room, walking down a short hallway and stepping into another room. The telephone stopped ringing, and Cassandra rolled her eyes and sighed. Was there no drama left in the world? Were all mysterious meetings so hopelessly mundane?

She glared at her surroundings in exasperation. This should at least be a low-lit back room in a skeezy tavern! But no, it was all perfectly ordinary, right down to the twee little end table with a cute little tea cup and a plain beige file folder on it.

_Wait just a second. _

That file folder . . . why was it here? Surely her informant wasn't stupid enough to leave all his precious information sitting out in the open. But stupider things had happened. And wouldn't it be grand if she could read it, right now, and learn everything the informant knew for free? And wouldn't it be funny to see his face when she told him his information was worthless?

She stood swiftly and grabbed the folder, whisking it open and hastily scanning the pages within. Her eyes widened as she read. This was what she had come for, alright, but surely it couldn't be true. Surely Jack wasn't . . . but there it was, all written down in neat, legible handwriting. There could be no mistaking the information. Cassandra's plan collapsed and rebuilt itself in an instant. This changed the game somewhat, but didn't shake her determination to make Jack suffer.

A sudden soft sound alerted her to Bobby's imminent return. She hadn't read everything yet, but it wouldn't do to get caught. Cassandra hastily replaced the folder and leapt back to her seat. When Bobby came in, she was settled in her chair, gazing serenely out the window onto the city below.

Inside, she was glowing with triumph.

8 8 8 8 8 8

Bobby settled back into his chair, agitated and unhappy. He had probably just lost a client; Mei Niurui had only been calling to check on a dress he was modifying for her, but Bobby was on edge and had given her the rough side of his tongue for no reason.

He smiled at the Allen girl, letting none of his feelings show. This would be over soon enough, and he could spend some of his reward to pamper himself.

"So . . . where were we?"

Cassandra beamed at him. Her smile was bright and adorable, but something about it made Bobby just the slightest bit uneasy. He suddenly felt sordid, like some sort of back-alley drug dealer, even though he was in his own apartment.

"You were telling me everything you know about Jack Spicer," she said sweetly.

"Um. Yes. Well, the most important thing about Jack is that he is . . . I mean, he does . . ."

This was turning out to be just a little harder to do than he had anticipated. Jack's tear-stained face kept appearing in his mind, refusing to be obscured by a hypothetical wad of cash. Bobby took a deep breath, rallied his courage, and blurted it out.

"_He wears underwear with little duckies on them!"_

For a long moment, Bobby wasn't sure who was more surprised by his admission, him or Cassandra. But a feeling of relief swept him almost immediately, bringing the realization that he simply_ couldn't_ betray the lonely, fashion-challenged evil boy genius who had saved him from death by dumpling and cried in his arms.

But he couldn't just send Cassandra Allen away without a word. She was bound to be offended and make trouble for him. So his subconscious had rustled up a list of fashion faux pas that he could attribute to Jack.

"Yes! Little underwear ducks, imagine that! And I know for a fact he wears socks with sandals sometimes. Talk about a fashion disaster! He even," Bobby lowered his voice in feigned horror, "wears white after Labor Day."

Cassandra was now gaping at him like a startled fish, and Bobby had to work hard to stifle laughter.

"Shocking isn't it? And I've got a million of these. The boy does not know how to dress."

"I see." Cassandra sounded faintly incredulous. "Do you have anything a little more . . . useful? Bad fashion decisions aren't exactly what I was looking for. "

"More useful than fashion mistakes?" Bobby pretended to be shocked. "Fashion is everything! What could be worse than that?"

8 8 8 8 8 8

Cassandra decided in that moment that she'd had enough. This man was clearly an idiot, and she was beyond disappointed by this cozy little apartment and the informant's complete lack of professionalism. He didn't even have a menacing eye patch, for god's sake! She'd stolen his juiciest information already; she might as well leave.

She stood up suddenly, waving an imperious hand to cut Bobby off as he started another inane sentence.

"That's enough. You clearly don't have anything I need, and I don't intend to waste any more of my time."

She swept out, not bothering with a goodbye, imagining with relish how crushed that silly little man must be feeling. It would show him for bringing her out to this boring place.

8 8 8 8 8 8

As the door slammed shut, Bobby collapsed in relief. He was doubly happy now that he hadn't handed Jack's secrets over to that bitch.

_I won't make this mistake again_, he told himself. _From now on, I'll sell clients out before they grow on me._

And he would keep his scheming firmly away from Jack Spicer.

8 8 8 8 8 8

If Cassandra had been a little less preoccupied with her grand new plan, she might have wondered why Bobby had given her such silly information when he had a folder full of juicy secrets. If Bobby had bothered to look at his file before he guiltily ran it through the shredder, he might have wondered why the pages were out of order.

But she wasn't, so she didn't, and neither did he.


	13. Starting Over

For the first time in his long, long life, Chase was experiencing the pain of unrequited love.

Every day since the disastrous morning when Jack's heart had finally broken, a realization had been growing in him: He needed Jack Spicer. He had grown dependant on that unfailing admiration, had come to crave the bumbling adoration that Jack gave him without hesitation. And he had lost it even as he began to understand how much he relied on it.

It had never happened to him before, this particular melancholy of the scorned. Back in his days on the side of good, Chase had held to the code of a monk. His only love had been good deeds. After he became evil, he took lovers, but he had cared about none of them. So he had no scope of reference for his feelings, no notion of how to control his longing.

He tried to meditate, to fill the emptiness inside himself with silence, but Jack's tear-stained face seemed to be etched inside his eyelids. He tried to spar with his warriors, but the memory of Jack's skin sliding under his hands as they trained tortured him. The nights were even worse; his dreams were all of pleading moans and the taste of Jack's lips.

Nights thawed into days, days melted into nights, and hours stretched into weeks. Chase told himself he was gaining control, that his feelings were fading under the calming hand of time. But he was lying, and he knew it.

The need to find the redhead and simply demand his attention was almost overwhelming. But Chase knew more subtlety was required, and he had a plan that was sure to make Jack sit up and take notice. It was a simple, elegant solution, one it just might kill him to carry out.

Chase was going to show some humility.

8 8 8 8 8 8

Afternoon sunlight lay lazily on the fields. Bees swooped through the air in slow arcs, moving from flower to fragrant flower. The landscape rolled gently, grassy dips sweeping smoothly upwards into verdant hills. It was lovely pasture land, a place where herds of glossy-coated cattle lived, grazing contentedly until it was time for them to become steak.

At least, they had been grazing contentedly until Jack got there.

"You straw-haired, hick-talking, malapert cowpoke! You smell like a pork chop in a barn and you look like a pig in a cowboy hat, you lard-eating, lop-jawed backwoods boob!"

Jack stood posed dramatically on a grassy hill, sun glinting on his goggles as he rained down abuse on a very startled cowboy. Clay stood awestruck, staring up at Jack. The other monks stood with him, mouths agape, still slightly bewildered by the disdain being heaped upon them. In the distance, a rapidly retreating cloud of dust marked the flight of a terrified group of Hereford.

Jack had shown up about ten minutes ago, hopelessly late for today's showdown, completely missing his chance for the Bullhorn Blazer. In fact, the only reason the monks had still been there when Jack arrived was because Clay had stopped to make friends with the cows.

Clay had made a joke about Jack's tardiness, followed by a slightly more caustic taunt from Raimundo. Instead of making his usual lame comeback, Jack had unleashed a temper that made Kimiko look mild-mannered. Raimundo was fuming after a frank analysis of his ego and some well-placed jabs about air heads. Kimiko was seriously reconsidering her crush after a thorough belittling of her fashion sense and face, and even Clay was becoming mildly perturbed by the demoralizing breakdown of his faults. Jack had insulted them all many times, but never quite so vehemently.

8 8 8 8 8 8 8

Jack was not a happy camper.

He'd been woken from his first real sleep in a week by the insistent buzzing of his shen-gong-wu alarm, and it had taken him 30 groggy minutes to figure out what was going on, pull on some clothes, and get out the door. When he arrived, still sleepy and irritable, he had found the monks uncontested and belligerent, sharpening his temper even further.

And now he was going to make sure they felt every last bit of that temper. Having thoroughly insulted Raimundo, Kimiko and Clay, Jack turned his attention to Omi.

"And you! You puff-headed, egotistical, misogynistic cheese ball!"

Omi's eyes widened.

"I hope you wake up to find a squirrel in your pajamas every day of your life, you sentient bowling ball!"

Omi's lower lip quivered.

"Someone should tie you to a pole and use you as a yellow light, baldy!"

Omi gave a heart-rending sob. It sounded as though all the cuteness and innocence in the world had been gathered into a ball and then firmly stomped on. The other monks turned to look at him, and above them Jack stopped mid-rant.

"Omi," Kimiko asked hesitantly, "are you alright?"

Tears were rolling down the little monk's cheeks. He answered with a sniffle and a quick shake of his head. Looking down at his crushed expression, Jack felt a tendril of guilt uncurl. Yelling at the monks was one thing, but he hadn't meant to make Omi _cry_. Maybe he'd gone just a little overboard with the insults. It wasn't Omi's fault he'd had such a crappy morning.

"Hey, sorry about the squirrel thing," Jack called. "I didn't really mean it."

The other monks turned to glare up at him as Omi's tears continued undiminished. Jack racked his brains for something nice to say.

"Umm . . . and it's not all bad, what I said. I mean, all the cool monks are bald."

Omi made a sound like a kitten being sat on.

"It's true," Kimiko chimed in, deciding to help out. "We all have hair, and you're much cooler than we are."

"And . . . uh . . . there's nothing wrong with being a cheese ball," Jack continued. "You're a really cute cheese ball, and who doesn't love cheese?"

"Jack is right, pardner," Clay agreed. "Cheese is about as popular as a dairy product can git."

Omi gave another sniffle and looked up at Jack. "You really did not mean those terrible things?"

He had stopped crying, but unshed tears still glistened in his eyes.

"Of course not. You know you're my favorite monk."

"Really?"

Omi was smiling now, and Jack backtracked nervously.

"Yeah, but don't take it _too_ much to heart. No hugs or anything."

Jack realized his mistake a moment too late as Omi's smile got even bigger.

"Hugs!"

"What- no, no hugs! OOF!"

Jack's protests cut off as Omi raced up the hill and took a flying leap at his midsection. All the air in Jack's lungs departed in a sudden whoosh as Omi squeezed him tightly. Struggling to breathe, Jack patted him awkwardly on the head and began gently trying to pry him off. Omi, unaware of Jack's discomfort, interpreted his desperate movements as an attempt to snuggle. Beaming, the little monk squeezed Jack even tighter, his feet completely off the ground as he clung to the evil teen. At the bottom of the hill, Kimiko cooed, Raimundo snickered, and Clay looked on complacently as Jack struggled with the obliviously happy Omi.

It was to this scene of adorable camaraderie that Chase Young arrived.

8 8 8 8 8

If it had been anyone but Omi, Chase might have lost his resolve and crumbled into a jealous mess. As it was, the sight of the two embracing gave him hope. If Jack was handing out hugs, maybe he was in a good mood today.

"Do I get one of those as well?"

At the sound of his voice, the gathering regained its former tension. Omi let go of Jack and pivoted around, ready for a possible fight. The other monks prepared as well, smiles fading as they faced the Price of Evil. Jack, too oxygen starved to care, took advantage of his release and began gulping air.

"Jack Spicer has earned my hugs," Omi declared. "But you may have a hug as well, provided you promise not to use it for evil."

Nobody questioned Omi's assumption that Chase could find a way to turn hugs evil. He was just that good at his job.

"I was not asking you, young monk. The only embrace I desire is Jack's."

Chase clamped down on the rush of embarrassment that came with the statement. He was practically declaring his love in front of the Xiaolin! Evil beings did express a desire for hugs! But if this was what it took to convince Jack to return to him, it was worth it.

He strolled closer, ignoring Omi's reaction and trying instead to gauge Jack's temper. It was probably going to take a little more work than one request for hugs, but surely that got him a little credit.

Jack stopped taking deep breaths and fixed Chase with a steely glare as he walked closer.

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

Chase stopped, just far enough from Jack that he wasn't invading the evil genius's personal space. He could see the desire to hit him in Jack's eyes, restrained only by the knowledge that he was vastly outmatched. Chase's heart sank, but he allowed no flicker of uncertainty to show on his face or in his tone.

"Exactly what it sounds like. I would like a hug."

"You already have everything you'll get from me."

Omi was glancing back and forth from Jack to Chase, worry on his face. Something was wrong here. Jack never spoke so harshly to Chase, and Omi had never heard that note of conciliation in Chase's voice before.

"I have done you a disservice, Jack. I treated you badly. It is in my nature to be cruel, and sometimes even I regret that cruelty. But there is something I would like to try."

He smiled disarmingly. The expression felt strange on his face. Most of his smiles were evil smirks or demonic grins, not placating gestures. All the same, the smile didn't impress Jack. He continued to glare.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm starting over." He held out his hand, palm sideways, in the traditional invitation to shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Spicer. I'm a big fan of yours. The name is Chase Young. Can I have your autograph?"

Startlement spread across Jack's face. For a moment, Chase could read a flicker of amusement and flashes of a thousand fan boy memories in his eyes. For a second, Chase thought he might laugh. Then the surprise faded and Jack's face was once again etched with hatred.

"The bad thing about first impressions is that you don't get do-overs. Go to hell Chase."

Jack turned and walked away, activating his heli-pack as he went. Once again, Chase let him go. Emotions warred inside him. Part of him was furious at being rejected after humbling himself, especially in front of the monks. Part of him wanted to catch Jack, simply swoop down on him and steal him away. It would be the work of a moment. He could keep Jack with him by force, bonding with him every day, seducing him every night . . . Surely, eventually, Jack would release his bitterness?

Chase dropped the idea before it became too tempting. He had shattered Jack's feelings for him, and holding him prisoner would not restore that regard.

_He would hate me every day for the rest of his life_. _But if I do this carefully, he may yet come to love me. _

Chase turned on his heel and disappeared.

8 8 8 8 8 8

Alone once more, the monks looked at each other in shock.

"What the hell was that about?" Raimundo asked no one in particular.

Kimiko shook her head.

"I don't know, but that was definitely weird. I've never seen Jack that angry, and I've never seen Chase so nice."

Omi strode down the hill to rejoin his friends.

"You were up there with them, Omi. Could you tell what was going on?" Kimiko asked him.

"I have absolutely no idea." Omi said cheerfully. "But that does not matter, for I have received a hug."

Kimiko looked down at the beaming monk with sudden suspicion.

"Omi, did you cry _on purpose_?"

He looked back at her with an expression of innocent shock.

"Why would I do such a deceitful thing? Surely no Xiaolin monk would pretend to weep before his enemy."

"Because you wanted– never mind. You're right, forget I said anything."

She turned back to Clay and Raimundo, eager to join their speculation about the mysterious actions of Jack and Chase.

Behind his back, Omi uncrossed his fingers.


	14. Sugar Daddy

AN: I am so sorry that this has taken so long. This semester is even worse than last semester. I'm running the campus newspaper, working on the school's magazine and taking a creative writing course, so all my writing time is spent on other things. I will finish this, however. I promise!

8 8 8 8 8 8

"Master Jack? Another gift has arrived."

Jack looked up from his work and sighed as the Jackbot approached. This was the sixth gift so far, and he was beginning to wonder if Chase would ever stop. The first present had come the day after Chase's little performance at the showdown, and one had appeared every day after that.

Jack felt a bit of his anger rekindle as he thought about Chase's behavior that day. Chase had been mocking him, Jack knew, acting out a cruel parody of his former fan-boy demeanor. Why the warlord had done it, Jack wasn't sure. Maybe he had just wanted to rub in his rejection and embarrass Jack in front of the Xiaolin. But if that was true, this sudden flood of gifts made no sense.

_He's probably just trying to screw with my head_, Jack decided. _God knows he's good at it._

He dismissed the puzzle of Chase's behavior and held out his hands. The Jackbot handed him a silk bag roughly the size of his head. The fabric was deep green and embroidered with a riot of golden flowers and twisting vines. The contents clinked as Jack took hold of the bag, and multiple pieces of something smooth and hard shifted against each other as he almost dropped it from the unexpected weight.

"Holy crap, what's in this thing? Mega-dominoes of doom?"

Jack upended the bag and poured the contents carefully onto the desk. Hundreds of small white tiles poured out, pattering onto the desk in a gleaming flood. Each was utterly smooth on one side; the other sides were decorated in a variety of glimmering colors. It took him a long moment to understand what he was looking at, but he quickly realized that the tiles were puzzle pieces. From what he could tell without putting it together, the puzzle would be the size of a big-screen tv and show a tangle of flowers similar to that depicted on the bag it had arrived in.

Also, from what he could tell without going to a jeweler's, it was worth more than his house and most of the things in it.

The puzzle pieces were ivory, smooth and polished. The design was formed by gemstones, delicately cut and fused to the ivory in shapes that made the flowers and vines. Jack sifted through the pieces, sorting them into groups. These two ruby pieces were part of the same flower, probably a rose. This emerald was part of a leaf, and it connected to a twisting vine that led to half a buttercup made of gold . . .

Jack stopped himself. He was _not_ going to put this puzzle together, however much it intrigued and dazzled him. He had returned every gift Chase had sent him so far, and there would be no exceptions. He didn't understand why Chase wanted to give him something, but accepting it was bound to come with consequences he didn't want to deal with. It was safer to send them back, especially the ones that tempted him.

Regretfully, he swept the pieces bag into the bag and returned it to the Jackbot.

"See that this gets returned tonight," he instructed. "And if anything else comes, don't bother me with it until tomorrow."

Frowning, Jack turned back to his work. Maybe he should send Chase a cease-and-desist order or something. This was getting kind of ridiculous.

8 8 8 8 8 8

This was absolutely ridiculous.

Chase sat on his throne, peering through his spy orb, watching Jack's reaction to his latest gift. He ground his teeth as Jack once again gave orders to have his present returned.

"What am I doing wrong?" Chase growled, perturbed enough for once that he was speaking to himself.

He had been so sure the puzzle was a perfect gift. It was a challenge to the mind as well as a delight to the eyes, a perfect comparison for Jack himself. It was difficult to complete, demonstrating his respect for Jack's mental prowess, and made of the most precious materials, illustrating his feelings for Jack. So why had it not been accepted? In what way had his perfect present been found lacking?

Chase dismissed the orb and sat back with a growl. At least he had made some progress. The first gift had been literally booted out the door as soon as Jack realized who it was from, the apologetic letter attached to it unnoticed and unread. The second had been immediately returned. By the fourth try, Jack had at least begun looking at the gifts. This evening, however, was the first time Jack had come anywhere near to accepting one. That was news both good and bad- it meant Jack was thawing, but it also meant the next gift had to be even more impressive.

"Chase, my boy!"

His thoughts were interrupted in the most unpleasant manner possible: the repugnant drawl of Hannibal Roy Bean.

Bean hopped into the room flanked by two cats, his tentacle arms writhing in a manner that made Chase's lip curl. Tentacles were evil, yes, but they were also mildly disgusting.

"Bean. To what do I owe the intrusion? Tired of living at last?"Chase asked smoothly.

"Now now, there's no need for threats. I just came by to catch up. We haven't really _talked_ in such a very long time."

Bean grinned up at him with those craggy yellow teeth, and Chase was suddenly very glad he had dismissed the orb already. Bean knew something. He must have heard about the unusual events at the showdown and decided to snoop around. He was probably hoping Chase would say something revealing and give him a bit of leverage in their never-ending attempts to kill one another. If Hannibal found out about his feelings for Jack . . . Jack probably wouldn't survive the day.

So Chase smiled coldly and prepared to make small talk.

"I see. And what is it you think we have to talk about?"

"I've been hearing some unsettling rumors, my boy."

Hannibal moved a bit closer, but stayed well out of kicking range. He knew Chase too well.

"And why should this concern me?"

"Because certain people are saying –not that I believe them for an instant, mind- but they're saying that you're so starved for affection you're begging your former fan-boy for hugs." Bean gave him an ingratiating grin. "I thought it might be neighborly to inform you that I know a quick little spell that will get you all the company you need. All you have to do is make a deal with me. How about it?"

Chase laughed, expressing an amusement he didn't feel.

"Is that why you came? Surely you know that the Xiaolin gossip like starlings- and they're almost as stupid."

"Then you didn't go begging for hugs?"

Chase grinned.

"I did, actually."

Hannibal began to reply but Chase cut him off. Hoping to keep Bean from prying into his actions - and possibly discovering his feelings towards Jack - he spun a half-truth just plausible enough to be believed.

"Don't you ever get bored, Bean? Don't you ever get tired of being predictably evil? I do. Sometimes it's refreshing to tip the enemy off balance, to do something unexpected. And it makes my next act of evil so much more shocking. Shouldn't you, of all people, understand the appeal of playing mind games?"

"And Jack Spicer?"

"As far as I'm concerned, that insect has more than outlived his usefulness. But it is rather amusing to toy with him."

Bean looked skeptical, but Chase could tell he was almost convinced.

"Are you sure you're not going soft on us?"

Chase's smile changed just a trifle, and suddenly what had been a grin was a subtle baring of teeth.

"Have you seen Wuya lately?"

Hannibal hid it well, but for a split second surprise flashed across his face.

"Was that you? She told me she'd been attacked by a pack of roaming demons."

"I suppose I should be flattered by the comparison. In fact, she annoyed me one too many times, and I decided to drive home the message that I do not tolerate disrespect. It took some effort; Wuya is thick-skinned even as a ghost."

"I certainly understand that," Hannibal drawled. "Wuya's always at her most tolerable when she's wounded."

"Indeed."

Hannibal didn't reply and Chase let the silence stretch as he gazed coolly down on the bean. Finally, Hannibal seemed to decide he'd gotten all the information he was likely to get and changed the subject.

"You've heard about Jack's new friend, of course?"

"I have better ways to spend my time than keeping track of Spicer's so-called friends."

Chase's reply was calm, but inside he felt an unpleasant surge of jealousy and curiosity.

"Oh, but this one is amusing. Little Jack has gotten so many second-raters to go after the wu, but this is the first time we've had a hairdresser."

Chase relaxed. If this was just Jack bringing in strays, it was nothing for him to be worried about.

"A hairdresser?"

"Hairdresser, clothes picker- something that's of no use in a fight." Hannibal shrugged one tentacle. "Though he did manage to help Jack come surprisingly close to winning, or so I hear. But that's not the interesting part."

"What could be more interesting than that?"

Either Chase's sarcasm was lost on him, or Hannibal just chose to ignore it.

"Jack's new friend is feminine in more than his choice of profession, and Jack just happened to follow him home when the showdown was over. I doubt it was for a haircut, if you catch my drift."

Chase caught his drift and ignored it. He was fairly sure he knew exactly who they were talking about now, and he wasn't worried. He'd spied on Jack and his clothier at some length, and he didn't believe there was any attraction between them.

"Are you sure we don't need to worry about _you_ going soft, Hannibal?"

"Why would you think a thing like that?"

"You stopped by to ask me if I need company and to gossip about Spicer's love life. That sounds more like an old woman than a Heylin fighter."

Hannibal shook his head.

"So rude, and after I came all this way just to offer you my help. Young people are always so ungrateful."

"Ungrateful, and incredibly busy. So unless you have something more to say. . ."

"Only that, if you ever should need any assistance, you know where to find me."

"Duly noted. Now get out."

Hannibal obediently turned to leave without any further comments, something that surprised and discomfited Chase. His eyes narrowed as the evil bean hopped out, followed by the two cats that had brought him in. He'd have to keep a careful eye on Hannibal.

Just currently, however, he had a wonderful idea.

8 8 8 8 8 8 8

Hannibal pondered his conversation with Chase as he glided comfortable through the air on the back of the Ying-Yang Bird. The young reptile was getting awfully uppity, and Hannibal wanted to know why. He thought about Chase's slightly crazy grin, his comments about "predictable" evil, and the horrible scars that Wuya now sported.

Hannibal had known it was possible to wound ghosts, but it took strong will, powerful magic and a towering rage to pull off. Wuya claimed she had done nothing out of the ordinary to anger him . . .

Maybe he was up to something, or maybe the great Chase Young was cracking up.

Either way, Hannibal intended to watch him very closely from now on.


	15. Advice

Bobby shuffled down the hallway, fuzzy blue slippers cushioning his steps but making precision just a little difficult in the early in the morning. The slippers were, of course, color-coordinated with the rest of his attire: Soft blue sleep pants topped by a soft cotton robe, all in a shade of delicate blue that he knew set off his hair to best advantage. In his hands a mug, the only non-blue part of his ensemble, steamed gently and gave forth the enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

_6 a.m. is a truly ungodly hour_, Bobby mused. He wasn't even sure why he was up right now. He craved sleep, he truly did, but he had the oddest feeling that there was something he needed to be doing. Maybe a new design idea was coming on. It happened that way, sometimes, a vague compulsion turning into a brilliant idea.

He shambled towards his office, intending to grab a sketchbook and pencil, but a faint sound from the living room stopped him. Had he left the television on? He had better check.

Bobby walked into the living room and almost dropped his coffee. A handsome Chinese boy in full armor was sitting on his couch, a smile of sardonic amusement on his face. A panther and a tiger sat at his feet, their presence making the spacious apartment seem suddenly very small.

For half a second, he was frozen in shock, but a rush of adrenaline as one of the big cats yawned elaborately jump-started his brain, and he quickly classified the situation. One armored boy and two big cats meant some equivalent of a circus act. The fact that they were here meant the boy was a new client. The fact that he had chosen to show up a 6 in the morning meant he was probably an unknown with just enough fame that he needed to act like a douche to make a big impression. Bobby quickly arranged his features into a welcoming smile. That kind of client was annoying, but they usually paid him handsomely enough to be worth it.

"Good morning!" Bobby trilled, walking the rest of the way into the room. "Can I get you anything? A coffee perhaps, or maybe some water for your friends?"

The boy smiled widely, giving bobby a good look at his teeth. _Gracious, he's even sharpened his canines, _Bobby thought_. That's dedication to your craft._

"That won't be necessary," he replied smoothly. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is-"

"Oh, I know who you are," Bobby interrupted. He didn't know, actually, but second-raters loved it when you treated them like they were famous. "And let me assure you, you have nothing to worry about."

"I don't?"

Bobby settled gracefully on the other end of the couch and leaned forward conspiratorially.

"Of course not! You've got me now, and whatever you need, I can take care of it. Whether you want a whole new look or just some trimmings to match that gorgeous armor, I can find the perfect piece. And I can even find some suitable accessories for your feline friends."

"Are you offering to clothe my _cats_? "

Bobby realized he had made a mistake and backtracked accordingly. "Of course not; what looks better on a tiger than fur? But with that in mind, I do have some shampoo that will really bring out the shine in that coat. And maybe a hair treatment to take care of that thin spot on the left ear?"

The tiger in question suddenly shifted, turning so that his left ear was hidden from view. If Bobby hadn't known better, he would have sworn the cat was embarrassed.

Chase stifled a grin as his cat sheepishly hid his ear. This visit was certain to leave him amused, even if yielded no valuable information. Bobby was the closest thing Jack had to a friend, and Chase intended to glean every scrap of knowledge he had about Jack's likes, dislikes and emotional state.

"I think you might have misunderstood my purpose here. I am not in need of a new wardrobe and neither," he flicked a glance at his cats, "are they. I wish to talk to you about Jack Spicer."

He had been expecting surprise, but Bobby's reaction caught him off guard. The little blonde clothier jumped up off the couch and actually shook his finger at Chase.

"Absolutely not! I'm done! I told the Allen kid everything I know. If you want more information about Jack's fashion foibles, you'll have to go somewhere else."

"Who exactly is this 'Allen kid'?" Chase growled. The fact that someone else had been asking questions about Jack perturbed him.

"What part of no didn't you get?"

Chase's eyes narrowed and the panther at his feet bared its fangs in a blood-curdling snarl. A normal man would have backed down under the double threat. Bobby, however, was unaffected.

"Don't start with me, Mr. Whiskers," he snarled back at the cat. "I'll a make you into a coat so fast your nose will still be hanging in mid-air. And you," he continued, rounding on Chase, "had better get off my couch and out of my home before I start feeling threatened."

"And why should I care if you feel threatened?"

Chase's voice was a low, dangerous purr. He felt the panther at his feet getting ready to pounce, and sent it a mental command. _Wait._

"Because if you threaten me, I'll defend myself so hard you'll be pissing through your nose for the rest of your life."

_He has to be bluffing, _Chase thought. There was nothing about the irate fashion designer to suggest fighting ability. He didn't move or act like a warrior, and there was no aura of magical ability around him. Chase could probably defeat him without standing up from the couch. But beating him up probably wouldn't make him more amenable to providing information, and if word got back to Jack that Chase had harmed his friend , all hope of reconciliation would be lost.

"I do not wish to threaten you," Chase assured, lying through his teeth. "I simply need your help. Perhaps I should explain my relationship with Jack, and what it is I need from you."

"You do that."

Bobby folded his arms and looked at Chase expectantly, one eyebrow raised. His expression radiated incredulity.

"Jack has been a . . . fan of my work for some years," Chase began, realizing as he did so that he had no idea how much Bobby knew about Jack's life. He decided to give Bobby the short and vague version of events. "Recently, we became lovers. He had different expectations of the relationship than I did, and- "

"Oh. My. God!"

Bobby's outburst could have shattered glass, and Chase suppressed a wince.

"You're that guy," Bobby continued, "Charles or Chauncy or whatever. You've got a hell of a lot of nerve showing up here after taking advantage of Jack like that!"

"I wasn't trying to take advantage of him," Chase hissed, temper fraying. "And I'm trying to make up for it now. So if you care for him, you'll help me instead of screeching like a banshee."

Bobby sniffed disdainfully.

"So you're saying you just _accidently_ screwed Jack over. And you expect me to believe that?"

"Since it is the truth, I had hopes that-"

"Fine," Bobby interrupted. "Tell me about it."

"What?"

Chase's normal eloquence was dampened somewhat by Bobby's quickly shifting moods.

"Tell me about it. I want to know just what you did plan to do, how it went wrong, and why I should care. If I think you deserve it, I'll help you."

Chase hesitated. He was longing to give the impudent clothier a beating, and he was not accustomed to explaining his actions, but this might be the only way to get Jack back. With a mental sigh, Chase launched in to his tale.

Parts of it were exaggerated. Some of it was an outright lie. But for the most part, Bobby received a fairly accurate idea of Chase's thoughts and actions before he and Jack's relationship came to a thundering halt.

"And now he does not wish to see me, speak to me or accept the gifts I send him daily," Chase finished up. "I wrote him a letter of explanation, but he kicked it and the present it was attached to out the door."

Bobby was silent for a moment, turning everything over in his head. The 'lover' Chase had seen Jack with sounded a lot like Cassandra Allen. Bobby hadn't previously connected that snippy little bitch with the supposedly sweet girl Jack had talked about meeting and kissing, and her quest for information made him doubly curious now. Had she been running a background check to see if jack was worthy to date?

Bobby decided not to share his speculations with Chase, who had hopefully forgotten his mention of her. There was no helping that situation now, but he could make sure Chase knew how a nice boy like Jack deserved to be treated.

"You know," Bobby began, "I read this article a while back that talked about sure-fire ways to catch a man's attention. It was kind of a recipe thing . . ."

"I do not take advice from magazines. If you cannot help me, at least do not waste my time."

Chase said 'magazines' the way another man might say a curse word, and Bobby hastily switched tacks.

"Okay. Let's talk about the gifts. Gifts are good, and it shows you're working hard, having to find something sweet to give him every day."

Chase looked slightly uncomfortable, and Bobby's eyes narrowed.

"You have been giving him sweet presents full of personal meaning, right? Not just throwing generic crap at him?"

"I do not give substandard gifts! Nor do I give sweet ones. I have sent him items in keeping with my regard for him."

Bobby huffed.

"That means you've been throwing _expensive_ generic crap at him. Look Chauncy, Jack isn't a hooker. You can't just buy him back. If you give him stuff, it has to mean something. Say 'I care about you and want you to have this,' not 'I gave you trinkets so you'll sleep with me again."

"My name is not Chauncy," Chase growled, but his heart wasn't in it. He had thought carefully about what all his gifts meant, but he realized now it had been what they meant to him, not Jack.

"And while you're at it, write him another letter. Or if you can get him to talk to you, tell him how you feel. You don't have to drag it out, just tell him you're sorry for acting like a bag of dicks."

Chase's attention was caught by Bobby's last instruction.

"A bag of . . .?"

"Dicks, yes. Stealing someone's parking space is being a dick. Doing something like this is being a whole bag. Or a truckload."

"I see," he replied, somewhat taken aback by being compared to a bag of presumably severed genitals. "Is there anything else I should do?"

"Hang out with him, if he accepts the apology. Be nice. Do _not_ try to have sex with him. Take him out on a date, when he's ready. Go somewhere nice and make sure he has fun. You might want to wait for my okay on that, though. If you ask before he's ready he might freak out."

"I see."

Bobby resolved to give Jack a visit in a few days, after Chase had time to apologize, and see how things were going. He wasn't sure he had done the right thing by giving Chase advice, but it was too late to take it back know.

"Oh, and one more thing."

"Yes?"

Bobby pointed a firm finger at Chase.

"Get the hell out of my apartment. It's too early for this crap."

With that he turned and shuffled back to bed, leaving his now-cold coffee sitting on the living room table. Usually, Chase would not have accepted such an abrupt dismissal from anyone. Normally, he would have sent one of his cats or a flash of dark magic after someone who left so impertinently.

Today, he was very conscious of how much work he had to do to regain Jack, and how helpful Bobby could be. So instead of settling the score with blood, he used magic to discreetly weaken the coffee table. When Bobby came back to remove his mug, the entire table would collapse into a splintered, irreparable mess.

Chase indulged in an evil smirk before he and his cats quietly disappeared.

8 8 8 8 8 8

A/N: You asked for more and I delivered. Tell me you love me. Also, check out Red Widow. I'll be adding new chapters a few minutes after publishing this.


	16. Disbelief

A/N: I've gotten several requests/demands that I not abandon this story. I haven't and won't, I just haven't had time to write. I've had finals/Honors research/presentations/a job promotion/various extracurriculars. But it's Christmas break, so I can wrap this story up. This chapter is short but it's here, with the promise of more to come. Plus there's a nice surprise for you at the end.

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

"I cannot_ believe_ how hard it is to find a gun in this town!"

Cassandra was not normally one to talk to herself, but the frustration of the past few weeks was getting to her. The supposedly infatuated Jack had not called her or sent her any presents, her hair persisted in being frizzy no matter what gels and serums she slathered it with, and she could not find a gun to save her life.

Not that she actually intended to save anybody's life with it.

After that fateful visit with the clothier Bobby, when she had found out Jack's dirty little secret, Cassandra had been working on a plan. Certain necessary elements had been easy to find- she glanced at her closet, towards the enticing sheen of black leather- but others were proving far more difficult. One of those was the gun, a vital part of her plan. Most gun shops required a license, and even the sellers inclined to look the other way didn't want to give firearms to a little girl. There were a few shady dealers who would sell to literally anybody with cash, but Cassandra was world-wise enough to know it wasn't safe to just waltz in to such a place. She would be kidnapped- or worse- in a heartbeat.

It was still a little hard to accept all this, to believe what had been written in Bobby's folder of secrets, but everything fit. It made so much sense when you thought about it.

Jack's shyness, his oddness, the reason he spent all his time toying with robots when he could be out with a girl like her . . . it was all because Jack Spicer, heir to the Spicer family fortune, was a closeted supervillain.

And Cassandra was going to prove herself badass enough to win his love.

8 8 8 8 8 8

"Ugh! I can't believe this!"

Bobby's morning had not started off exceptionally well. First he had slept through his alarm, exhausted by his early morning conversation with that fancy-pants villain. Then he had burned his breakfast waffles because he drowsed off sitting at the kitchen table. Now his slippers and carpet were damp and splinter-covered after the sudden, inexplicable collapse of his coffee table.

Bobby looked down at the mess and sighed. There was absolutely no reason for the perfectly sturdy table to have collapsed; it had been fine yesterday, he was certain, and now it looked like it had gained ten year's worth of deterioration overnight.

He hadn't even touched it before it fell! He had simply noticed his mug still sitting there from last night's conversation and walked over, intending to pick it up and take it to-

Wait a minute. The table had been perfectly fine until he talked to a cranky evil sorcerer.

"Oh my god! That asshole broke my coffee table!"

Bobby shook his head as he went to grab a trash bag. He couldn't imagine what Jack saw in that douchebag. Sure, he had gorgeous hair, an incredibly handsome face, and reportedly a nice body under that armor . . . okay, so Bobby could sort of see where Jack was coming from. But that guy needed a serious makeover on both his attitude and his outfit.

Bobby decided to go see Jack a little sooner than he had planned. Chauncy-or-whatever-it-was might be more than Jack could handle on his own.

8 8 8 8 8 8

"I can't believe Jack got away with another shen-gong-wu," Kimiko complained as she trudged through ankle-deep snow.

Omi looked up at her, shading his eyes against the glow of afternoon sunshine intensified to a blinding glare by the white landscape.

"I do not share your disbelief, Kimiko. It was a most humiliating defeat, but Jack Spicer is a very oily buyer."

The rest of the group paused for a moment as they tried to figure out what the little monk was saying.

"Oh, I got it," Raimundo said. "Slick customer."

The crunch of boots on snow resumed.

"Omi's got a point there," Clay drawled. "I'd of got him if he hadn't collapsed the whole floor. How do ya booby trap a cave?"

"It doesn't matter how," Raimundo spat. "What matters is he's halfway home by now with another shen-gong-wu. Have we walked far enough yet?"

This last was directed at Dojo, who was curled up tightly in Clay's hat to escape the cold.

"Not yet," came the muffled reply. "There are still oodles of caves under the ice here. If I go big we'll fall right through."

The monks kept walking, looking for a place with ground solid enough to hold a full-sized dragon.

8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8

"I can't believe I got myself into this. But hey, I'm totally fine. I do this all the time! I practically wrote the book. You know, that's not a bad idea. Maybe I should write a book."

The voice drifted through the still, dim air of the caves, bouncing oddly off the massive walls of ice. Each statement was accompanied by a puff of white breath and a hearty shiver. The air was frigid, so cold that breathing felt like swallowing knives.

The caves were gloomy, but not wholly dark. Up above, the sun shone brightly down through holes in the ground, and bits of reflected light reached down to even the bottom of the caves. Jack stood huddled in one such patch of sunlight, arms wrapped tightly around himself. No fool, Jack had come prepared for the climate with a heavy coat, hat and gloves, but the clothes just weren't cutting it. His teeth were chattering, his skin was covered in goose bumps and his lips were blue with cold, according to his reflection in the ice. He'd be willing to bet his nails were blue as well, but he had no intention of taking off his gloves to find out.

On a normal day, the situation would have been unpleasant. Today it was probably going to kill him.

Jack's helipack was gone, smashed to bits by an unpleasant fall through a floor of ice that had looked more solid than it was. Jack's back was one solid bruise after that adventure, but he was just grateful no bones had been broken or skin sliced. He still had his cell phone and GPS, but the thing about ice caves was, they didn't really get good reception or show up on most maps. He had a shen-gong-wu, too, but it wasn't doing him a hell of a lot of good.

The Ring of Bian Ding was around his finger, a band of pale, glimmering stone that somehow fit perfectly over his glove. It was beautiful, but Jack had no idea what it was meant to do. He hadn't bothered too research its powers before heading to the showdown, but a quick test had convinced him that using it was a bad idea. The only noticeable change had been a strange tingling feeling and a slight drop in the already too-cold temperature.

Jack expected to freeze to death, but he was damned if he would hurry it along.

So now he was wandering around the caves, looking for a way up and out, occasionally calling out for the Xiaolin but mainly talking to himself. He didn't really have much hope of being rescued; the force of his fall, and the frozen rubbish that rained down on him, had dazed him for a bit. The monks had probably packed up and gone home while he was lying there. It was just him here, alone, trapped under the ground.

"Yeah, a book," Jack continued, fighting to keep fear at bay. "It'll be a best-seller. I'll call it "Jack Spicer: Evil Boy Popsicle."

8 8 8 8 8 8 8

Chase couldn't believe how fun this had been.

A scream ripped through the air behind him, rolling down the long earthen tunnel. Mixed with the sound were the desperate rattling of chains and the hair-raising screech of nails on stone.

"YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME! RETURN!"

The voice was hoarse and demanding, filled with power and command but laced with terror. Chase didn't hesitate as he strode down the passageway, draconic eyesight giving him clarity even in the underground blackness. He navigated carefully through muddy bits of the narrow tunnel, occasionally ducking under roots that had grown down through the roof.

"I CAN GIVE YOU THE WORLD!"

He considered whistling nonchalantly, but decided it would be overkill.

"PLEASE! Please . . ."

The voice was growing weaker behind him, the chain-rattling less energetic. Chase grinned as one last despairing shriek sounded. Technically, he was probably doing more good than evil right now, but it _felt _deliciously evil. And really, that was what mattered.

He glanced down at the gore-splattered parchment in his hand and his smile broadened. This had been a productive trip; he'd procured an important item and had a lot of fun in the process. The question was, should he put his new acquisition to use now or later?

He looked from the parchment to his bloody gloves. Perhaps it would be a good idea to clean up first, then set out. With a flicker of magic he headed for home, impatient to get going.

Jack was absolutely going to love this gift.

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A/N: I always thought if this story ever approached 100 reviews, I would give a prize to the 100th reviewer. When I remembered to check the other day, it had 148. So here's what I'll do. The 180th person to review this story will win a free ficlet on the subject of their choice, to be delivered when I have time to write it. (Again, it's Christmas, so I'm freeeee.)

Rules:

1. To win, you must be logged in when you review.

2. No spamming, or doing multiple little reviews to bump up the number.

3. I will message the winner as soon as I notice they've won. They will get a ficlet. That is to say, I will write a little Chack story about whatever they want. Chase and Jack as turtles? You got it. Chase and Jack eating muffins? Sure. Your call.

4. I reserve the right not to write a few things. If the winner chooses one of these things, they'll have to pick again, but it's unlikely. I'm flexible.

5. If the winner doesn't get back to me, or doesn't want the fic, I'll give it to number 181. (And so on.)

Good luck and merry Christmas!


	17. So Close

Cold northern stars shone down on a frozen world and the moon cast a hundred silver reflections on gleaming fields of ice. A gust of wind swooped low to scoop up handfuls loose snow, the moonlight turning it to shimmering confetti. It swirled through the air, then dropped suddenly as the wind found something more interesting to carry.

A hole in the ice offered up the quavery echo of a song, a melody rising from far beneath the ground, and the wind grabbed the sound and swirled it away across the tundra.

"_He's got the whole world iniz hands, got the itty bibity . . . bibbys . . . lil' kids iniz hands . . ._crap._"_

There was more to the song, Jack was fairly certain, but he couldn't really remember anymore. His brain was numb. The cold had eaten through his clothes hours ago, down and through his flesh, to seize hold of his bones with sharp, icy teeth. It had gnawed on him for a while and then, mercifully, let him go.

Now Jack couldn't feel anything, not even his legs. Well, except when he lost his footing on the slick ground or bashed against a rising stalagmite of ice. Then his skin tingled and burned for a moment before lapsing into numbness again.

Jack was highly tempted to lie down so he wouldn't have to worry about falling again, but he couldn't. It was part one of his two-part mantra. The first was, _don't stop moving_. The second was, _don't drink the ice_.

He was convinced that both of these were very important, although he couldn't remember exactly why. He couldn't remember a lot of things at the moment; his brain had turned into a slushy, and he was exhausted. Bad as it was though, this was an improvement, Jack recalled dimly. An hour ago he had been in a state of panic, convinced he was going to freeze to death and terrified of blundering over the lip of a pit in the frozen darkness. He had considered sitting down and waiting for morning, but even as his weary legs rejoiced at the thought of collapse, brutal realization hit.

If he let himself stop moving, he wasn't going to make it to morning.

He had begun the first mantra then, chanting softly to himself, "Don't stop moving." The second had come shortly after he, in his desperate thirst, had first considered applying his tongue to one of the icy walls surrounding him. He had rejected the idea almost immediately, knowing he would probably freeze his tongue to the wall and any moisture he did receive would only lower his core temperature even more.

"Don' stop moving, don' drink the nice," Jack mumbled.

Even though he hadn't licked the wall, his tongue still seemed clumsy and frozen, and he was having a hard time forming his words right. Like that song he had been singing, just a minute ago. What was it? Something about the world. It's A Small World, maybe?

There was a sudden crack below him, and all Jack's senses spiked as the fear of death hit him hard. Then he pitched forward, landing face-down on the ice, his foot caught in the ankle-deep hole that had opened under him.

"Fuck," Jack spat, or tried to. His lips were mashed against the ground, and the spreading warmth on his face suggested that his nose was spouting blood. He struggled to get up, pushing weakly at the ground, then flopped back down with a pained sigh. What was the use?

If he was going to die here, he might as well sleep through it.

8 8 8 8 8

Generally, when Chase Young smiled, the world trembled.

This evening, however, he was grinning from anticipation instead of evil glee. In truth, he didn't even know he was smiling. He was too busy counting strokes as he brushed his hair. He was using his favorite brush, the one he saved for special occasions because it left his hair delightfully silky but also left a slight magical residue if overused.

It was made of unicorn bone studded with bristles from the mane of a demonic Celtic boar, an unusual but effective combination. Chase had discovered it a few hundred years ago, when he decided to devote a decade to finding out what products worked best on his hair. He'd had to change shampoos since then- dittany no longer grew so freely as it used to- but this was still his favorite brush.

Chase finished brushing and surveyed himself in the mirror. He was a vision, if he did say so himself. His hair gleamed, his eyes were alight with eagerness and his armor had been impeccably cleaned of its earlier bloodstains. Surely once he apologized and gave Jack his perfect gift, Jack would once more be receptive to his charms.

He was irresistible, after all.

Putting the brush down, Chase summoned the magic necessary to take him to Jack's, but at the last moment he changed his mind. If he appeared outside the house, Jack would no doubt deny him entrance. It would be better to find Jack immediately and launch into an apology before he had time to react. Shifting the focus slightly, Chase summoned his magic and sent himself wherever Jack was.

8 8 8 8 8

Jack was, at that moment, crawling miserably across through the caves. After his fall, as swiftly cooling blood bonded his face to the floor, Jack had thought that he could give up and drift peacefully into the endless sleep of the hypothermic. But something was pushing him, some stubborn determination that wouldn't let him stop. Those stupid phrases he'd been chanting to himself were pounding through his head, keeping him going almost against his will.

_Don't stop moving, don't drink the ice._

So he had pushed himself up on shaking arms and started going again, crawling blindly because he wasn't capable of getting to his feet. He had the dim idea of bumping into a wall and trying to pull himself up, but the whole ice walls thing might make that a little difficult.

There was a sudden sound behind him, a soft thump followed by what sounded an awful lot like footsteps.

"Jack?"

The voice was low and astonished. Hope leapt in Jack at the thought that he might be rescued, but he was acutely aware that this was probably some kind of auditory hallucination. Either way, he wasn't really capable of anything but continuing to crawl right now.

"Kuan Yin preserve us," Chase said roughly. "Jack, are you alright?"

_Goddamnit_, Jack thought. _Of all the people to hallucinate about, why did it have to be him?_

This line of thought was swiftly cut off as his hallucination grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him upright. His legs wobbled uselessly under him, but strong arms kept him on his feet. Jack still couldn't see a thing, but he'd been yanked around by Chase a lot over the years, and this certainly felt like the real deal. Whether it was Chase or not, Jack decided not to struggle. He didn't have much of anywhere to get to, after all. He couldn't quite go limp though. Even as he decided not to move, one foot began to tap restlessly.

_Don't stop moving, don't drink the ice. _

Chase, meanwhile, was coming as close to panic as he ever got. He had expected to find Jack at home tinkering with some robot, not crawling through an icy cave with- gods, was that blood on his face? The darkness was too thick for even Chase's eyes to completely pierce, and he needed to see. He summoned a ball of soft light, taking care to keep it gentle so the glare wouldn't blind Jack.

Even so, the half-frozen genius cried out and jerked back when the light hit his eyes. That _was_ blood, Chase saw, a frosty red coating of it. A million questions rushed to the tip of his tongue at once. _What happened?_, _How did you get here?_, and _Who do I need to kill for hurting you?_ were chief among them. Right now was not the time, however. Jack's lips were blue under their red glaze, his skin glacial, and he looked as though he were standing on the threshold of death. Chase needed to get him somewhere warm, now if not sooner. It might be best to warn him though; Jack already seemed disoriented, and sudden magical travel might panic him.

"I'm going to take you home now," Chase began in a tone of pure calm that was the utter opposite of his emotions. "You need warmth."

Jack looked at him blearily, squinting through the light.

"You're gonna take me home?"

"Yes," Chase replied, maintaining his soothing tone. Jack was responding sensibly, thankfully.

"No!"

Jack wrenched away again, breaking free of Chase's grip and wobbling backwards. It was a small miracle that he managed to remain upright, but he didn't seem to notice.

"You aren't taking me anywhere," he snarled.

"Jack, you're freezing. You need fresh clothes, blankets . . . perhaps some hot soup?"

Chase sounded like he was discussing the weather, almost bored with what was happening, and the tone set Jack's teeth on edge.

"What I need is for you to go away and leave me alone."

"Be reasonable. Would you really rather freeze to death than let me help you?"

"Better dead than stuck with you."

Chase bit his tongue against the angry retort that wanted to bubble up. Arguing wouldn't help, and Jack didn't have much energy to spare. Chase was tempted to take him away whether he wished it or not, but such action would likely mean he lost all chance with Jack. Wouldn't that be worth it to save his life though? Chase hesitated for a moment. Surely he could make Jack see reason; it would just take a little persuasion. In the meantime, he would do the best he could where he was.

If Jack wouldn't leave, perhaps he would at least accept warmth, but what kind? Fire would melt the ground beneath them, and there was an odd aura about Jack that made Chase think using magic on him might be a bad idea. Resolving to look into that later, Chase summoned a blanket. Since he didn't exactly keep a large collection of fluffy blankets around the lair, it was actually the comforter from his bed, but Chase wasn't feeling particularly picky. He infused the coverlet with a slight warming spell and held it out to Jack.

"Would this be acceptable alternative to death?"

Jack looked at the blanket. He didn't want to accept anything of Chase's, and right now he was strangely unperturbed by the idea of dying, but damn did that blanket look comfy. Chase held perfectly still while Jack considered it, looking oddly like a man trying to coax a wild animal into eating from his hand.

Eventually comfort won out over carelessness, and Jack snatched the blanket with unsteady hands. It was deliciously warm, like laundry fresh out of the dryer, and he wrapped it around himself tightly. When he looked up, Chase was holding another. It appeared to be made of leopard hide, and Jack wondered absently how often Chase skinned his warriors for bedclothes.

"Perhaps you'd like to sit?"

Even asking nicely, Chase managed to make it sound like a command, but Jack wasn't concerned with much of anything besides the warmth around him.

"Yeah, sure," he mumbled, eying the second blanket greedily.

Chase nodded and sent his magic racing into the ice below them. He drew up a block from the ground as Jack looked on with dull eyes, shaping it as it rose. When it was finished, he draped the hide over it, then summoned the sheets from his bed and covered it with them for good measure.

He stepped back and gestured towards what now looked very like a bed with the top and bottom edges angled slightly upward . Jack looked at it, then back at Chase.

"I don't owe you anything," he said as he started forward, shuffling clumsily with the comforter wrapped around him.

"Of course not," Chase agreed smoothly. "It is I who owe you. I had hoped to begin to make amends this evening, although this is not the method I had anticipated. I realize I have treated you very badly, and I want to tell you-"

"I don't owe you anything," Jack interrupted, "because I'm going to pay you back right now."

As he shuffled towards Chase, Jack's mind was a murky soup of anger, determination and the burning desire not to be in his former idol's debt. The edges of comforter tangled around his feet when he drew close, tripping him up and making him lurch against Chase. As Chase's arms came up around him, Jack felt a painful brush of the old longing. What would it be like, he wondered, to have Chase really care about him for a moment?

Chase hugged Jack tightly, wondering if this was all it took for reconciliation. There were tears in Jack's eyes as he looked up, and Chase could see the yearning in his expression.

"Give me your hand," Jack told him softly.

"Anything."

He put his hand near Jack's, not sure what he would do but knowing that whatever it was would bring them closer together. Their eyes remained locked as Jack fumbled with his glove, then grabbed Chase's hand. Chase had a moment of wonderful, triumphant ecstasy as Jack slipped a ring on his finger. Then magic roared through him, leaving him colder than the air around them and suddenly, inexplicably missing something vital.

"What have you done?" he demanded, horrified.

Jack didn't answer. The moment the Ring of Bian Ding slipped from his finger to Chase's, the energy that had kept him moving all night abandoned him. Exhaustion hit him like a hammer blow and he collapsed, catching one last glimpse of Chase's horrified face before he was swallowed by unconsciousness.


	18. On Ice

Jack wasn't a morning person at the best of times, but today waking up sucked even more than usual. His bed was very cold for some reason, his face and most of the rest of his body hurt, and something large and hard was poking into his butt. He reached back, intending to find the offending object and throw it away, but he never made it that far.

"You might not want to do that, Jack," said a voice very close to his ear.

Jack shot forward, scooting out from between two blankets and falling with a nasty thump from the raised ledge of ice he'd been lying on. The cold hit him like a brick, and he regretted his hasty move even as he lifted himself up and spun around.

Jack's heart skipped oddly as he saw Chase lying on a bed of ice, hair tousled and eyes bemused. His armor was piled on the ground at the end of the bed, leaving him in only the black clothes he wore underneath. An ornate green comforter covered his legs, the rest of it pooling on the ground where it had been thrown by Jack's hasty exodus. Jack remembered where he was as he looked at it, blurrily recalling yesterday's events.

"You're certainly welcome to, of course," Chase continued. "I simply wanted to make sure you weren't reaching for anything you didn't wish to touch."

Jack was sleepy, disoriented and freezing his ass off, but he was still a genius. Chase's careful tone told him exactly what he'd been reaching for, and a quick glance down confirmed it. The sight of an erection pressing against Chase's black pants sent a blush racing across his cheeks.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped, trying to cover his embarrassment.

"Attempting to save your life," Chase told him smoothly. "Speaking of which, you might return to the blankets now. This area will be the warmest it's going to get in roughly an hour, at which time I suggest we try to get out. We'll need to be well rested then."

There was something odd about that statement, but Jack didn't think too hard about what as shivers wracked his body. The covers looked awfully inviting, but . . . He glanced swiftly down again, then shook his head.

_Been there, done that, cried a river._

"Jack, I don't intend to do anything but keep warm," Chase said. His voice dripped with sincerity, but Jack refused to let himself be taken in.

"I'm f-fine here."

His traitorous, chattering teeth gave him the lie even as he said it. Chase sighed, then folded the top cover back and got up. Three steps away from the bed he stopped and looked expectantly at Jack.

"What about now? You have my word I won't attempt to rejoin you without your permission."

Jack was still suspicious and more than a little freaked out, but cold was a powerful motivator. He hopped back into the blankets and wrapped them around himself, leaving only his face poking out. Then he looked over at Chase, who stood stiffly with his arms crossed over his stomach.

"Why are you here?" he asked again.

"I came to find you. And as I said, I stayed to save your life."

It was customary to thank someone for saving your life, Jack knew, but he didn't feel particularly inclined at the moment.

"And you didn't just magic me home because . . .?"

Chase raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you remember last night? You specifically forbade me to 'magic you home,' as you put it."

"Since when have you cared about what I want?"

"It was a recent discovery, Jack, but I care for you very deeply."

Jack looked away. He knew Chase was lying, but it was a very tempting lie.

"Tell you what," Jack said. "I officially give you permission to do the magic thing now. I go home, you go home, we both forget this happened."

"In that case, I trust you won't mind taking this off?"

Chase held up his hand. On it was the Ring of Bian Ding, gleaming even in the gloom of the cave. He had given it to Chase, Jack remembered, in a half-crazed attempt to pay him back for the blankets. Why did Chase want him to take it back? Was this some sort of trick? The ring was a shen-gong-wu; would removing it do something horrible to him?

_Oh, screw it_, Jack decided it. No magical punishment could be worse than this.

"If I take it off you, you'll send me home?"

"Yes."

"In one piece?"

"Whole and unharmed, I promise."

A villain's promises were probably worth about as much as those of a used car salesman, but it was better than nothing. He shrugged and disentangled a hand from the covers. Chase stepped closer, hand outstretched. Jack grabbed the ring and pulled.

A rush of cold went through him, blinding white light flashing across his vision. He cried out and let go, throwing his hands up in front of his face. Instantly the light disappeared, leaving him shivering and stunned. Chase didn't look so good either; he was pale and dazed, leaning against the ice slab.

"What did you do?" Jack asked softly, unable to summon the energy to be pissed off just yet.

"What did _I_ do?" Chase straightened up and looked at Jack incredulously. "That wasn't me, Jack."

Jack flapped his hand dismissively.

"The shen-gong-wu then, what the hell was that?"

"You have no idea what you've done, do you?"

That was not the response Jack had been expecting.

"What?"

"Last night, when you put the Ring of Bian Ding on me, you blocked my magic."

"I blocked . . . what? How?"

Jack was flabbergasted. His mind was already going a mile a minute, working out how and why such a thing could have happened, but some part of him refused to believe it. You couldn't just pop a piece of jewelry on Chase Young and leave him helpless.

"You know, of course, the powers of the Ring of Bian Ding?"

"Um. Not exactly."

Not at all was more like it. He'd been busy lately, and he hadn't bothered to check out what the shen-gong-wu did before racing out to pick it up.

Chase raised a mocking eyebrow.

"Neglecting your research, evil boy genius? The Ring of Bian Ding lets you force others to do your bidding. If you can trick an enemy into putting it on, he is bound to your will until you remove it."

"Wait . . . the ring of binding? Really?"

Chase nodded.

"Dashi got lazy with this one. He firmly believed that shen-gong-wu names should either be puns or as obvious as possible to the people who would be fighting over them fifteen hundred years later. The time he spent picking titles was quite possibly the biggest waste of future-reading ability the world will ever see."

"Yeah, totally."

Jack wasn't really worried about the extravagances of a long-dead Xiaolin monk. A ray of knowledge was dancing giddily through his brain.

_I have control of Chase Young. _

Jack had any number of ideas about how that could come in handy. Some of them involved revenge, some world domination, but he was discomfited to note that more than a few of the plans that popped up were sexual in nature. It might be fun to boss Chase around for once, to see that proud head bowed in submission . . .

Even as heat shot through him, Jack pushed the beckoning fantasies away. Despite the fact that Chase did seem to want him, mind-controlled sex felt a tad too close to magical rape for Jack's taste. Besides, it wouldn't be the same. Chase was magnificent in power, meant to be in control, and seeing him any other way would be less satisfying. Jack remembered what it was like to be on the receiving end of that dark, glorious dominance, the feel of teeth that nipped and caresses that bruised, the erotic sense of strength barely withheld.

He remembered, too, the heartache that came at the end.

He forced himself to wallow in that memory, washing away his idiotic desires. Yeah, Chase was good in bed, but Jack had no intentions of being used again. Suddenly very conscious of Chase standing beside him, Jack pushed his mind into other channels.

"Okay, so it's a mind control ring. How is it blocking your magic? And why can't I take it off of you?"

Chase was burning with curiosity. Jack had drifted off there for a moment, and Chase had sensed the sudden flash of arousal that ran through him. Now it was gone, and Jack sounded weary and guarded. Chase was dying to ask what he'd been thinking of, but he was wary of upsetting the brittle peace between them. Instead, he launched into an explanation of the Ring of Bian Ding's powers.

"The ring is an extraordinarily complex shen-gong-wu. Its power is limited by several magical rules, one being the requirement of predetermination. Before you use the ring on someone, you must know exactly what you wish them to do. No additional commands can be given once they wear it."

_So much for absolute control_, Jack thought, plots deflating in a rush.

"But why can't you use magic? I wasn't thinking about that when I gave you the ring."

"Judging from your comments at the time, you wanted to prevent me from transporting you home. The ring responded to the intensity of your thoughts as well as the content and enforced that command by preventing me from using any kind of magic."

"And there's no way to get it off?"

Chase frowned.

"Normally, the user would simply remove the ring from the wearer, but recent experience leads me to believe that won't work."

Jack snorted.

"You don't say. What was that anyway?"

"When you use the ring, it consumes some of the wearer's life force and your own to forge a connection between you. If the wearer fights your commands, it will take more from him, depleting him further each time he tries to defy you. For some reason, the ring took your attempt to remove it as disobedience and drained us both. That I don't understand; it shouldn't be able to touch you now."

Jack thought of the horrible chill that had filled him and shuddered. Going through that once was bad enough; to have to feel that again and again would be unbearable. But he had felt something like it once before, hadn't he? When he had first put on the ring after the showdown, trying to figure out what it did, it had made him briefly colder. Perhaps that meant- but no, that would be silly. Wouldn't it?

If you put the ring on yourself and willed it to work magic, would it make you obey yourself? Maybe if you were thinking of an order, or making yourself do something . . .

"Don't stop moving, don't drink the ice," Jack murmured.

"What?"

Jack looked at Chase as realization solidified.

"What would happen if you accidently used the ring on yourself, then put it on somebody else? Would there be some kind of echo effect?"

Chase looked at Jack questioningly, then with dawning horror.

"You used it on _yourself_? _Why_?"

"I didn't know what it did," Jack snapped defensively. "I was trying to figure it out. And then I told myself to keep moving and not lick the walls, and the ring held me to it. It helped, didn't it?"

"It could have killed you," Chase said flatly. "It would have forced you to go on past endurance, and every time you tried to stop it would have drained you a little more. I don't know why it isn't draining you right now."

"I'm guessing you're the ring's primary concern now, except when I try to take it off you," Jack pointed out. "And technically breathing is moving. So as long as I'm obeying the letter of the law, I can disregard the spirit."

Angry as he was with Jack for unwittingly making such a desperate gamble with his life, Chase couldn't deny he was impressed. Jack had successfully conducted a magical experiment that had never, to Chase's knowledge, been attempted before. He was also expounding on advanced magical theories with only the barest of explanations. It was incredibly attractive.

"So to sum up," Jack continued, "you can't magic us out with the ring on and I can't take the ring off without nasty consequences for both of us."

"Correct. In all probability, if we continue to try, the ring will drain us until we die."

Jack nodded grimly.

"I thought as much. So how are we getting out of here?"

"We're going to rest until the temperature reaches its zenith, then walk in that direction."

The way Chase pointed looked the same as any other to Jack.

"That's your grand rescue plan? Walk that way?"

"My plan was to take you home," Chase growled. "This is the best I can do under the circumstances."

There wasn't much Jack could say to that.

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A/N: Yes, that was a whole lot of conversation. They're bonding, damnit! Also, you may have noticed my writing is a bit rough lately. Usually I write something, wait a week, edit it when I have some distance and then publish it. I thought you would prefer me to be quick. I hope I was right.


	19. Dead Man's Kiss

Things were quiet in the cave as Chase and Jack rested, waiting for the warmest part of the day to arrive. Chase stood silent, looking contemplatively at the translucent walls. Jack lay on the bed, ignoring his companion as best he could, unable to go back to sleep. The frosty stillness was pressing on his nerves and making him restless. He glanced around, looking for diversion, and caught sight of Chase's armor lying in a heap on the ground.

He wondered why Chase had taken it off, then realized that in this climate the metal would probably be like a wearable refrigerator. Funny, he'd never thought about Chase getting cold. It seemed beneath him somehow to be effected by temperature.

Jack looked back at Chase, still standing stiffly upright with his arms crossed over his stomach, then glanced at the thick comforter wrapped around him and felt a pang of guilt. It was absurd, of course; Chase was a horrible person who deserved much worse than a little cold. Plus he looked like he was completely fine.

_You don't know that_, Jack's conscience prodded. _He could be just as cold as you were. He doesn't even have a coat._

_Shut up_, he told it.

_Make me. _

There was only one way he was going to make that inner voice pipe down.

"So Chase, that outfit doesn't look very cozy."

Jack could have smacked himself. Cozy? _Cozy_? Of course his outfit wasn't cozy! Chase was a villain, for evil's sake!

"It was not made with cold climates in mind, no."

Chase, despite everything, actually seemed to be slightly amused.

"So how are you keeping warm?"

"For a genius, you occasionally ask questions with very obvious answers."

"Meaning . . .?"

"Meaning I am not keeping warm. I am simply ignoring the temperature."

"And that works? You can just do that?"

Chase shrugged elegantly.

"It will work until I freeze to death from the cold I'm refusing to acknowledge."

His tone was nonchalant, like a little death was nothing to worry about. Jack wasn't exactly sure how to reply, but his conscience went off like a 5-bell fire alarm.

_He deserves it_, he told himself.

_But he brought you blankets_, his conscience pointed out. _He saved your life. _

_I hate you, _Jack replied.

"You know, I could use a little extra heat in here," he said aloud. "So if you wanted to get back in . . ."

He unrolled his cover cocoon and looked at Chase, forcing his expression to remain neutral. Chase started to move towards him, then hesitated.

"Are you certain? I meant what I said, but I may not be able to control certain reactions."

Jack very studiously did not look at Chase's crotch as he patted the blanket in what he hoped was an inviting- but not too inviting- way.

"I'm sure. Hurry up if you're coming."

He draped the comforter over them both as Chase slid smoothly back onto the bed. Jack rolled away as Chase settled in, determined to ignore their proximity on the narrow slab of ice. It worked for all of five seconds until Chase scooted close, molding his body against Jack's.

"What are you doing?"

Jack's voice came out more of a squeak than the demand he had meant it to be, and he mentally smacked himself again. Would he ever stop sounding pathetic?

"You said you were cold. I'm warming you."

The reply was a low, intimate whisper, and Jack swore he could feel Chase's lips almost brushing his ear.

"That's ok. I mean, there's really no need."

"Oh, but I think there is. Unless you can think of a better method?"

Chase knew he was pushing it with the suggestive tone of the question, especially since he'd told Jack he wouldn't try anything, but the best part of being evil was getting to cheat a little in such situations. Besides, he wasn't really going to pressure Jack and risk getting kicked out of bed again.

"No, I think this will be fine," Jack said firmly.

"Good," Chase purred.

There was a lull in the conversation. Chase used it to asses Jack's health, and he wasn't reassured by what he saw. The blue tinge had vanished from Jack's lips and nails, but he looked haggard and worn. His nose had stopped bleeding long ago, but blood stained the front of his coat, a reminder of his fragility. His lips were dry and chapped, and he had been licking them with worrying regularity when Chase stood talking to him, a sure sign he was thirsty. He needed food and water as much as he needed more rest, and Chase knew none of those things were forthcoming. It was a long way back home, even if they could find a way out, and it seemed highly unlikely Jack would make it.

A flare of anger came with the thought, and Chase bared his teeth in a silent snarl. Jack was going to be _his_, and he would defy wind, weather and death itself if necessary. He would find a way out of these caves, and he and Jack would make their way across the land. He could hunt for them, although it would be more difficult without weapons or magic. Depending on the landscape, there might be timber above that would enable them to make fire, and he made a note to ask exactly where they were. He hadn't bothered to check before rushing off to find Jack.

Jack, lying beside him, was thinking about the same thing. Like Chase, he knew how little chance he had of ever getting home, but the thought didn't inspire panic or rebellion. Instead, calm acceptance was slowly filling him. There were worse ways to die than this, and at least he was going out victorious. He had won his last showdown ever, even if "winning" in this case meant "falling through the ice." He wondered if the monks would miss him. Omi almost certainly would, but he wasn't sure about the rest. He thought with a pang of his mother. She'd probably get worried and set up a search for him in a week or so, but it was unlikely she would ever find out what had happened to him. And what would she tell dad, when he got back from Ireland? Would they hold a funeral for him? Who would come?

Bobby might, Jack realized suddenly. It was both a sad thought and a happy one, that he had a friend who would miss him. Cassandra might too, but maybe not. They had shared a kiss but he really hadn't known her, and he was pretty sure she was mad at him. She hadn't contacted him again after storming out of her first visit, and he hadn't wanted to be rude by calling and forcing her to talk to him. Women could get pretty angry about that kind of thing, he had heard.

An unpleasant thought struck him. How would Chase feel, watching him die? Jack doubted it would bother the Prince of Evil very much, especially since Jack's death would probably break the Ring of Bian Ding's hold on him. This whole situation was just screwed up, Jack grumbled mentally, his calm breaking for a moment. He had come out here expecting a normal showdown, or as normal as those things ever got, and Chase had come to find him for . . . for what? Had he ever said exactly what he wanted? Curiosity rose within Jack, knocking melancholy out of the way.

"Hey, Chase? Why are you here?"

Chase looked sharply at the back of Jack's head, wishing he could see his face. Had he forgotten their earlier conversation? Was the magic affecting him after all?

"We spoke of this a short time ago," he said a little too gently. "How are you feeling?"

"No, no, I'm fine and you're stuck here while the ring's on, I got it. But you were looking for me, right? Just wanting to shoot the breeze or what?"

Chase froze. He'd come to apologize, but it had seemed so much easier last night when he was composed and Jack was delirious. Chase brushed aside his nerves and got a grip on himself. Lately his interactions with Jack seemed to matter almost too much. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cared at all about how another person felt, let alone worried about it to the point of nervousness.

"I came to apologize," he said. "I hurt you very badly. It was not my intention to do so, and I believe my recent attempts to make it up to you have only made things worse. For this I am sorry."

Jack was more than a little surprised. Chase sounded utterly sincere, and it caused an odd fluttering of hope in his chest. It might explain those gifts and Chase's weirdness that day he asked for a hug. . . Jack caught his runaway hopefulness and put the brakes on hard. He knew better than to fall for this. Just because Chase for some reason wanted to fuck him didn't mean there was any caring involved.

"And using me like a play-toy? I suppose you're sorry for that too?"

Chase's voice was hard as he replied.

"I make no apologies for seducing you, Jack. You desired me as much as I did you, and unless I'm very much mistaken we both enjoyed ourselves. As for using you, I made you no promises, and you asked for none. I'm not some addlebrained virgin equating sex with eternal love. I'm evil, and you knew that when you bedded me. I thought that was _why _you wanted me. "

Even as Jack tried to think of a nasty retort, he felt his anger start to deflate. Chase had a point, didn't he? It didn't diminish the hurt of not having his feelings returned, but it made his pissed-off attitude a lot less justifiable.

"Despite this," Chase said more softly, "I do care for you. I value your company, your wit and your loveliness. I find myself unhappy when I upset you, and I believe if anyone attempted to hurt you in my presence I would rip them limb from limb and scatter the pieces across several continents."

The statement was disturbingly homicidal and more a declaration of 'like' than 'love', but it melted Jack's heart all the same. He wished he could see Chase's expression, but he didn't quite have the courage to roll over.

"Why did you wait this long to tell me?"

"It has taken me quite some time to understand it myself. This is not a common occurrence for me. When I did . . . I didn't rise to my current position of power by caring about people, or by giving away my secrets lightly."

When Jack didn't respond, Chase's heart sank. He had decided not to sugar-coat the truth, and it looked like that bluntness had cost him his lover. He drew away slightly, giving Jack his space, but as he did so Jack shifted and rolled over. When they came face-to-face, Chase took in Jack's expression and felt a flash of hope so sharp it hurt.

"So," Jack asked, grinning widely, "sending me enough fancy gifts to sink a boat was more subtle than just telling me how you felt?"

"It was too subtle for you, wasn't it, evil boy genius?"

Jack's resulting snort gave Chase an oddly warm and fuzzy feeling in what he suspected was his heart.

"It's probably a good thing you stopped when you did. If you gave me anything else, I was going to drop it off a cliff and see if you got the hint."

"That reminds me. . ."

Chase reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the crinkled, bloodstained parchment he had spent the previous afternoon obtaining. He'd had it in his hand when he found Jack and stuffed it hastily into his pocket instead of banishing it with magic, something he was glad of now.

"I brought you one more thing. You may drop it off a cliff if you wish, but I have reason to believe you'll appreciate it a bit more than my other gifts. "

He held it out to Jack, who took it gingerly.

"Did you roll this thing across a battlefield?"

"Your idol was a bit reluctant to surrender his autograph."

"My idol?"

Jack looked at the writing scrawled messily across the odd piece of paper. It took a few long moments for him to realize it was written in Hungarian. His attempts to decipher it were not helped by that fact that the words looked as though they had been written by someone in the process of being electrocuted, or the spatters of what looked suspiciously like dried blood. Determined not to look stupid in front of Chase, however, Jack persevered and eventually made sense of the words.

_Dear Jack, your demon tells me he will grind my body to powder and sprinkle it in a monastery outhouse unless I write you a letter. So I'd just like to say that as I molder in this tomb, trapped in everlasting agony by the stake in my heart and the holy symbols around me, it's nice to know someone is thinking of me. _

_Sincerely, Vlad Tepes Dracula_

"It was the best I could do, under the circumstances." Chase sounded almost defensive as Jack examined his gift. "The prince has gone a little stir-crazy in that tomb, I'm afraid, and he reacted quite rudely when I suggested he write something nice. This," he gestured at the parchment, "was his fifth try. Torture proved persuasive, but in hindsight breaking his hand was not my best idea."

Jack mouth twitched as he fought the laughter bubbling up inside him, not wanting Chase to think his gift was bad. It was just so close to mundane, but light years away at the same time. A couple quarrels, and the boyfriend brings his beloved some flowers. Chase Young takes your virginity, and he gets a dead Wallachian prince's autograph to make it up to you.

This could work, Jack realized with a rush of joy. Chase didn't love him, but the evil warlord was honestly trying to treat him well, and that was enough. It was his wildest dreams come true, as a matter of fact. Jack let go of the hatred he'd been nursing and let happiness take its place. He was snuggled up with the man of his dreams, and that man had made keeping Jack warm his prime purpose.

I _wonder just how warm we can get before we start melting the bed_, Jack wondered. _It is ice, after all._

And with that, Jack's good mood departed as swiftly as it had come. The thought of ice brought knowledge of his predicament hastening back. Now, at last, he had what he'd always wanted, but he had no time to enjoy it. Sometime- not today, perhaps, but soon- his luck was going to run out. Hypothermia, starvation and thirst were lining up to claim him, assuming he wasn't killed by another accident like the one that had trapped him here in the first place.

Jack had gained everything he wanted just in time to lose it, and Chase had gone through all this just to watch the first person he'd cared about in fifteen hundred years die.

Jack sat his gift down very carefully on the ground by the bed, then turned to Chase, who was regarding him with a heartbreakingly hopeful expression.

_We have right now_, Jack told himself. _That's better than nothing._

"Kiss me," he ordered softly.

Chase's eyes widened. He hesitated for a moment, wanting fervently to do as he was told but uncertain that Jack was really ready. Jack, conscious of how precious every moment was now, took matters into his own hands. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Chase's, kissing him with fierce urgency. As he did so, he fumbled with his gloves, throwing one and then the other aside so his hands could roam unencumbered. Chase, too surprised to react, let Jack control the kiss. He hadn't expected such forcefulness from his supposedly meek and pliant lover.

Jack's hand brushed through Chase's hair and down his back, leaving his skin tingling even through the shirt. Jack kept going, sliding his hand under the comforter to cup Chase's ass and pull them closer together. His other hand slipped under the front of Chase's shirt, brushing over his stomach and up. Chase moaned appreciatively as Jack found a nipple, circling it with a fingertip before scratching lightly. The sound seemed to encourage Jack. He broke the kiss suddenly and moved to Chase's neck, biting and licking with a ferocity that made Chase growl with lust. Not content to let him dominate for long, Chase flipped Jack onto his back and straddled him. He intended to get his lovely genius naked as quickly as possible, then show Jack all the very best benefits of being his lover.

The look on Jack's face stopped him cold. Jack was desperate and terrified, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

"What's wrong?" Chase demanded. "Did I hurt you?"

Jack shook his head but didn't answer, and Chase looked frantically for any bruise or scrape that might explain his distress. He found nothing.

"Speak to me, qin yi. Tell me why you're upset."

"It's nothing, I'm fine. Just go back to what you were doing."

_Does he realize_, Jack wondered, _that_ _he_ _just called me 'dear one'? _Probably not; it sounded like something that had just slipped out. Somehow, that made it all the more special.

"I don't think you are . . . emotionally prepared for this," Chase told him hesitantly. "Perhaps we should wait."

Jack shook his head again. One tear spilled over to roll down his pale cheek.

"One of us ought to enjoy the time I've got left."

_Jack thinks he's going to die here_, Chase realized, _and he has decided to spend what remains of his life bringing me pleasure._

Chase didn't take offense at the implication that he was callous enough to use someone that way. As he had told Jack earlier, he wasn't the type of man who usually cared about people. In this case, however, Jack's unhappiness had extinguished his passion like an avalanche rolling over a campfire, and it made him oddly unhappy that Jack hadn't realized that.

Chase pushed aside his feelings and leaned down until his nose was almost touching Jack's. His hair fell around them in a dark curtain as bronze eyes bored into red ones.

"I am not going to let you die. We will leave this place and I will bring you safely home, if only so I can say 'I told you so'- _after_ we have sex on every piece of furniture you own."

The mixture of confidence and unexpected lecherousness did the trick. Jack's eyes went wide and amused surprise replaced the grief on his face.

"Even the tool cabinets?"

"Especially the tool cabinets."

"That's a lot of furniture."

Chase grinned toothily.

"I know."

Jack's laughter bounced off the walls, sending echoes rolling through the caves. Chase didn't give him time to sink into gloominess again. He moved nimbly off Jack and off the bed, picking up Jack's discarded gloves as he went.

"Prepare yourself," he said, handing the gloves to Jack. "We're going home."

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A/N: More talking, I know. There will be action soon. I think.

Anyway, it occurred to me as I wrote this chapter that Jack might actually die in the caves. I certainly hadn't planned on that ending, but I'm making this up as I go along, and that would be very tragically romantic. I just don't want to kill him, damnit. So everybody cross your fingers and hope that plot bunny doesn't take over.


	20. Childhood Delights

A/N: Welcome to Chapter 20, in which you get three stories for the price of one. I hope you like them.

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Chase, having had an extraordinarily long time to experience the best of everything, considered himself a very fine judge of many things. He had an eye for art, an extremely educated palate, and- as a man who had once informed the Lorelei she was a little off pitch- he believed himself an expert on music. So it was with great authority he decided that while Jack certainly wasn't the worst singer ever born, he was a long, long, long way from the best.

Some time ago, Jack had decided that their hopeless search for a way out of the caves would be cheerier with a little music. Chase wasn't about to veto anything that kept his lover's spirits up, so he'd walked in silent agony as Jack sang every song he knew that had even the slightest relation to walking, traveling or directions.

First up had been "Walk This Way," a jumble of incomprehensible slang that Jack assured him was a very popular rock song. Jack seemed to derive a great deal of amusement from "North to Alaska," which he bellowed out at the top of his lungs until Chase began to worry he might cause a cave-in. Chase rather liked "Homeward Bound" but the song seemed to depress Jack, who quickly transitioned into the sarcastic ditty "King of the Road."

By their second hour of walking, Radio Jack began to take on a decidedly Irish lilt, which was slightly better. Jack had a vast repertoire of folk songs, some of which Chase actually knew, and he was interested to hear how the lyrics had changed in the two-hundred-odd years since he'd been through Ireland. Currently Jack was belting out a rapid tune that certainly inspired a swift pace but couldn't possibly be leaving him much breath for walking.

"_Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road, and all the way to Dublin, whack-fol-lol-de-ra!"_

As the last "ra!" echoed off the walls, Jack paused to take in a few deep breaths before beginning his next number. Chase rushed to fill the silence, hoping he could distract Jack from singing for a bit.

"I don't know how you give voice to that Celtic racket without swallowing your tongue."

Jack looked up worriedly, surprised at Chase's sudden grumpiness, but the warlord's smirk told Jack he was joking. Jack grinned in return and stuck his tongue out.

"Go n-ithe an cat thú, is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat," he retorted.

"Something about devil cats," Chase said after a moment of consideration. "My Gaelic is a little rusty. I haven't traveled in those parts for a few hundred years."

"May a cat eat you, and the devil eat the cat," Jack translated. "Getting to be a homebody, Chase?"

"Not exactly. I managed to anger almost every fae court in Ireland on my last visit. Faeries are more a nuisance than a danger, but there's not much to do when court parties are closed to you."

Jack chuckled.

"Fairy parties? Really? Is it the glitter you miss most, or the tutus?"

"The food, actually. Fae food is exquisite as long as you don't care that it's actually enchanted toadstools. Or enchanted toad, on occasion. And if you know anything of folklore, you know the fae are not the cutesy creatures humans like to pretend they are."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Baby stealing, warfare and the occasional human sacrifice. Exactly your kind of people. How did you tick them off?"

"A faerie queen- every third faerie is a queen, in Ireland- tried to put me under a love spell. I overreacted a bit and ended up eating half her court. The other courts probably wouldn't have cared, but I accidently snacked on a few visiting ambassadors as well."

"You ate a bunch of fairies?"

"I was angry and they were out of apple tarts."

"Wow. So I guess the 'eat fairy food, stay with them forever' thing doesn't apply to you?"

"It doesn't affect dragons, no. But even if it did, I think eating faeries might negate eating faerie food, if only because they want to get rid of you."

Jack shuddered.

"Yeah, strange how most people don't think to try that."

"Indeed. Is Irish culture a favorite study of yours?"

Jack shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Dad's from there. He taught me all kinds of songs and stories when I was little. He was always missing Ireland, and he said it made him a little less homesick to share them with me. He taught me Gaelic for a while too. He said one day I could go with him on one of his trips back."

There was an undertone of resigned sadness in Jack's voice, and Chase sensed that the conversation was touching on an old wound.

"China seems like an odd choice for a man so attached to his homeland," he said, trying to subtly sidestep the issue.

It didn't work. Jack seemed to curl in on himself as he walked, pain rising behind his eyes.

"I don't think mom left him much choice. Their marriage isn't . . ."

"Happy?"

"It's not happy either, but mainly . . . it's not real."

"How so?"

Chase was curious now, and anyway, perhaps it would help Jack to talk about what saddened him.

"When they met . . . the way mom tells it, it started out like a romantic comedy. Back then, dad was the top corporate affairs guy for Microsoft Ireland, and they sent him to San Francisco for a week-long conference. On the first day, he went to a coffee shop by the conference center for breakfast. When he came out, he ran straight into mom. He spilled half a cup of coffee and a bagel with everything down her dress. Of course, dad ended up asking her out to dinner as an apology."

Chase tried not to shudder at the sentimentality, but Jack caught his expression and grinned at him.

"Sounds cheesy, doesn't it? She accepted that night, and the next night, and the one after that. They spent the whole week together, every second he wasn't in the conference. On the very last day he told her he had to go home, but he wished she would come with him so they could be together always. They promised to love each other forever, said tearful goodbyes, and parted ways. Dad thought he would never see her again."

"But your mother had other plans."

"Mom's from Kentucky. They take that kind of talk more seriously there. She went out and bought an engagement ring and two wedding rings, then hired a priest and a lawyer. They were waiting in the lobby when dad came down with his luggage. Mom and dad got married on the spot, in front of a crowd of delighted hotel guests and one very disapproving doorman."

Chase grimaced at the idea of such a maudlin display. He wasn't overly concerned about the sanctity of marriage, but did people have no dignity anymore, no respect for the ceremonial import of such occasions? Apparently not.

"So what went wrong?"

"When I was eight, dad gave me the talk about the birds and the bees, which turned into the talk about picking the right woman."

Chase made a soft, amused noise deep in his throat.

"Yeah, that didn't work out. But my point is, during that talk he told me his side of the story. Dad was kind of a playboy when he was younger, and to him mom was just one more girl he met and sweet-talked. He didn't ever really intend to marry her, but when he found her in the lobby with everything all set up, he was too much of a gentleman to reject her in public like that."

"He married her because he didn't want to embarrass her?"

Chase marveled. He thought human stupidity had no more surprises left to offer, but that was one he hadn't heard before.

"Yup. As soon as he got her back to Ireland, the trouble started. She didn't like the weather, the food or the social opportunities, and she was convinced dad's parents didn't like her. Her parents were furious that she had up and married a man they hadn't even met, then moved off the continent with him."

"So she complained until he agreed to live somewhere she would be happier," Chase guessed. "Why China? Why not closer to her home?"

"Dad wouldn't give up his job. He insisted they go somewhere he could transfer to without taking a cut in prestige or salary. China was it. They moved, and thus began the terrible marriage that dad would regret for the rest of his life."

"He told you this when you were _eight_?"

"Dad isn't really the type to mince words. He thought it would teach me some kind of lesson, and he knew I wouldn't say anything to mom. Even as a kid I could tell knowing would hurt her."

Wordlessly, Chase reached out and laid a hand on Jack's shoulder. Jack smiled but didn't look at him, just kept talking. He wasn't sure he could stop now; old memories were swamping him, secrets he'd never told anybody, and they needed to come out.

"I never asked dad why he stayed. I didn't want to know if I was the only thing holding them together."

Jack was deceiving himself, Chase knew. Even if he'd never asked, it sounded like little Jack had been perceptive enough to guess he was the linchpin that kept the family from flying apart. What must that pressure have been like for a child? As an occasional practitioner of psychological torture, Chase could appreciate the deep emotional scarring things like that could leave on someone.

"I did ask dad when he was taking me to Ireland. Microsoft was always sending him back, and I wanted more than anything to go. He would always say 'As soon as you're big enough to see over the leprechauns, I'll take you,' and I would make him measure me to see if I was tall enough yet. After awhile he started blowing me off when I asked, saying he didn't know, maybe when I was older. Then he stopped having time for stories. Three weeks before my ninth birthday, he got called to Ireland. It was urgent, he told us, and he might be gone for months. I was convinced that this was my chance, it was now or never. I begged to go with him, but he wouldn't even talk about it."

Chase could see where this was heading.

"You tried to go anyway."

"I snuck a look at dad's plane tickets, listened in when he made his hotel reservations and looked up where his office was located. He left a week later. I couldn't go when he did; mom was around, and she had promised to take me out for cake and ice cream the day before my birthday. She had a spa visit scheduled on the actual day, so I decided to leave then."

"She scheduled a spa day on your birthday?" Chase asked, a little offended on Jack's behalf.

"She said the facial mud was freshest on Wednesdays," Jack said, as though that justified it. "Anyway, I stole one of her credit cards when we went out, and that night I used it to buy a plane ticket. When I woke up the next morning, she was already gone. I went to her room and took all the money out of her emergency cash drawer. Mom had a lot of 'emergencies', so I ended up with about 19,000 yuan."

"Was there no one to watch you?"

"There were a few people in the house, maids and the cook mostly. They had orders to watch out for me but not to watch after me. As long as I wasn't bleeding or making a mess, they didn't pay me any attention. I packed mom's money and a few changes of clothes in a backpack, put it in my toy car, then drove out the front door and headed to the airport."

Chase couldn't help it; he laughed.

"A toy car?"

"Hey, it wasn't just any toy car. I'd been experimenting on it. It wasn't as fast as a real car, but it could outpace any bicycle in the country and I made it to the airport in a little over two hours. I used a bike chain to lock my car to one of the pillars in front of the building. I got a lot of odd looks, but nobody tried to stop me until I got inside. The airline people freaked out about a little kid trying to fly by himself. They kept asking me where my parents were. I told them I was going to my dad, but they said they couldn't let me on the plane until they talked to my mom."

"What did you do?"

Chase half expected to learn that young Jack had hijacked a plane and flown himself. It sounded as though his genius had blossomed early.

"I told them I would get her and ran back outside. There were people sitting near the doors, asking passersby for change. One of them was a woman in a faded blue dress, holding a little tin cup. I told her I would give her 3,000 yuan if she pretended to be my mother. She was a little freaked out at first, but she wanted the money. I gave her half and told her she wouldn't get the rest unless they agreed to let me on the plane. I told her my plan and we went in."

Chase wondered how a nine-year-old knew so much about human greed and motivation. Perhaps Jack's father had shared more than his heritage with his son.

"She rushed in with me in tow, crying. She fell to her knees in front of the check-in counter and started gasping out our sob story. She had cancer, she told them, and she couldn't afford treatment. She was too sick to work or take care of me anymore. I had to go to my father, and she had spent the last money she had for my ticket so she could know I was safe before she died. "You'll kill us both if you don't let my baby go," she wailed. People started gathering, staff and passengers watching this crazy woman, and she played it just like I told her to."

"Won't any of you help my child?", she begged them. "Please, help me save him."

"People had tears in their eyes when she finished, and one woman was sobbing into a handkerchief. The airline workers were talking among themselves, saying they'd seen her out begging everyday for months and never realized she was doing it for her son. Some of them started rummaging through their wallets, digging out money for the poor, brave mother."

Remembering it all, Jack felt an odd blend of cynicism, self-disgust and pride. He'd played a lot of people's heartstrings like harps that day. It made him feel like a jerk, but that lowness was tempered by the triumph of a successful plan and the satisfaction he derived from messing with stupid people.

"It was working," he continued, "but not fast enough. Security was pushing through the crowd and we hadn't completely won them yet. So I put on the most innocent expression I could muster and gave the woman a big hug."

"It's okay mommy," I told her, loud enough for everyone around us to hear. "I'll just go with you to heaven."

"That did it. There wasn't a dry eye in the house. Everyone started demanding they let me on the plane, and six people on that flight promised to watch me and make sure I got safely to my father. The station agent was there by that time, and he tried to say something about me not even having a passport, but the passengers shouted him down. He figured out pretty quickly he was going to have a riot- not to mention a PR nightmare- on his hands if he tried to stop me now, so he agreed to let it go."

"The flight was boarding, and everybody watched me get on. 'Mom' gave me a big emotional farewell, crying even harder and calling down blessings on everyone who helped us. When she hugged me, I slipped her the rest of the money. She whispered in my ear that her name was Mei, and she thanked me for choosing her. She was pretty sure she was gonna have it made after this, and she was right. People were lining up to give her money as she walked away."

Chase was undeniably impressed. Jack had demonstrated a remarkable penchant for manipulating people, along with a calculating amorality Chase strongly approved of. It wasn't often you found that kind of talent in a child; perhaps Jack had more evil in him than Chase had suspected.

"The plane ride was pretty awesome. The flight attendants gave me all the drinks and snacks I could hold, and everybody wanted to pamper me. The man in the seat beside me even switched places with me so I could look out the window. It was great. When we landed, I was a little worried about shaking all my new friends off, but it ended up being pretty easy. I just shouted "Dad! There he is!" and took off running."

"I found a place to exchange my money. They ripped me off pretty badly, but that was probably for the best. It kept them from making a fuss about a little boy running around alone with a wad of cash. I took a bus from the airport to the Microsoft Ireland office, but when I got there, they told me Sean Spicer had transferred to the China office years ago. I guess I should have known then that something was up, but I thought they just didn't want a little kid bothering them. I went to my dad's hotel next, but they told me he'd never checked in and his reservation had been canceled. That got me scared. I thought he'd found out that I was coming somehow, and hidden to punish me."

Jack took a deep breath, pushing away the echoes of old fear.

"I wasn't giving up that easily. I found an Internet café and hacked into his credit card purchase history. The last thing he'd used it for was a rental car from a place by the airport, so I got on their website and found out he was supposed to be dropping it off at one of the rental agency's locations in Ardara. I bussed to Ardara and checked again. He'd done some shopping that day, buying jewelry and other random stuff. I went every place he'd been, asking after him, until I finally found somebody who knew who he was."

Jack could still remember the smell of smoke that had hit him as he walked into the little pub, and the scent seemed fresh in his nose as memory washed over him.

_The room was full of smoke, rising from the turf fire in the hearth to twine around the ceiling beams. It was dim inside, made more so by wood walls gone dark with age. A few men sat at the bar or at little tables scattered through the room, drinking and chatting. One looked up and smiled as Jack walked in._

"_Now here's a grizzled traveler and no mistake," he called. "Have you come in for a pint, or just a smoke?"_

_Little Jack ignored the sarcasm. He'd been teased worse in the last few days. _

"_I'm looking for Sean Spicer. Do you know him?"_

"_Is it a bounty hunter you are, then? Watch out boys, he's out for blood!"_

_A few of the men laughed, none harder than the one who'd made the comment, and Jack felt his face start to heat up. _

"_Knock it off, Conall you old coot. Can't you see you've upset him?"_

_This last came from the man behind the bar. He gave Conall a stern glance before shifting his gaze to Jack. _

"_Ignore him. I know Sean, he comes in every now and again for a prawn sandwich while he's home. Come here and I'll show you how to find him."_

"_Don't take it hard, lad," the repentant Conall told Jack as he approached the bar. "I was only having a bit of fun with you. Here, George," he added to the bartender, "give him a bowl of soup and put it on my tab. He needs fattening."_

_Jack ate his bowl of vegetable soup while George took out a map and showed him the route to the house he was looking for. It was half an hour's walk from the pub, and a few of the more sober men offered him a ride, but Jack refused. He had realized that his father might not be happy to see him, and he didn't want an audience if things went badly. No one asked Jack why he was trying to find Sean, but their eyes followed him as he left, and he could feel their curiosity drifting after him like a cloud. _

_The half-hour walk took closer to an hour. Jack had been walking all day, and his backpack seemed much heavier than it had that morning. His legs were aching by the time he found the place he wanted. It was considerably smaller than Jack's house, two stories of grey stone with a matching waist-high fence around a small front garden. Jack couldn't imagine what his dad would be doing there; maybe it was a very small bed and breakfast?_

_When Jack knocked on the door, it opened almost immediately to reveal a beaming woman with short, wavy brown hair. She wore a knee-length white dress patterned with blue flowers, and Jack could tell she'd just spritzed herself with some kind of floral perfume. She seemed surprised to see him there, for all that she'd opened the door so eagerly, and her smile dropped a notch as she looked down at him._

"_Can I help you?"_

_Her tone was polite enough, for all that she seemed so disappointed, but it had been a hard day for little Jack. He'd been laughed at by complete strangers once already, and the thought that this woman might do the same made tears fill his eyes. Jack was mortified by his weakness, but his determination not to cry only made things worse. Unable to stop himself, he burst into tears. _

_The woman's politely disappointed expression immediately melted into concern. She knelt down, unmindful of her dress, and reached out to Jack. _

"_What's wrong? Are you hurt?"_

_Jack shook his head and kept sobbing, her kindness only making him cry harder. _

"_Now, now dear," she said soothingly, "it's all right. Can you tell me where your parents are?"_

"_I'm l-looking for my d-dad," Jack managed, tears still rolling down his cheeks. _

"_Why don't you come in? I've got some biscuits coming out of the oven soon; you can have some and tell me where you lost your dad."_

"_I didn't lose him," Jack began, calming down. "He came-"_

"_Mom! They're burning! Hurry mom!"_

"_Oh, for heaven's sake. Come along dear."_

_She flapped her hand hurriedly at Jack and took off. He shut the door and followed her through the front parlor down a short hallway to the kitchen. It was bright and airy, with cabinets and countertops painted a cheerful blue and a strong smell of baking. A girl of about six was peering into the oven, frantically brandishing a pair of potholders. A four-year-old stood watching, twirling her hair around one finger. Both had their mother's curls, but the older girl's hair was carroty red while her sister's was light brown. _

"_Bailey, give me those potholders and get out the milk," the woman ordered briskly. "Brittany, help your sister. You got here at the right time, dear," she told Jack over her shoulder as she removed a large baking sheet from the oven. "My husband's coming home today, so I've been cooking up a storm. We'll have some biscuits and milk."_

_They looked like cookies to Jack, but he didn't say anything. The two girls had jumped when their mother spoke to him. Now Bailey was staring at him brazenly while Brittany looked anywhere but at him and twirled her hair at a furious pace. _

"_You have even redder hair than I do," Bailey told him frankly. "Do old ladies always touch yours too? I hate it when they do that."_

"_I believe I told you to get out the milk," her mother said from behind her. "And don't be rude to our guest."_

_The girls set out milk and glasses on the kitchen table, sneaking little glances at Jack the whole time, while their mother arranged a selection of baked goods on a large plate. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, feeling useless, until the woman led him over to the table and hung his backpack on a chair._

"_We've got sugar, chocolate-chip, oatmeal and soda biscuits," she said, pointing at each in turn before pouring him a glass of milk. "Now you have a bite and tell me your troubles. No need to rush," she said when Jack started to speak. "Just calm down and take your time."_

_Jack picked up an oatmeal biscuit and bit into it. It was still warm, fresh out of the oven, and it tasted like an oatmeal cookie. While he chewed, he looked around the room, avoiding the eyes of the curious girls. Through the doorway, he could see a well-furnished living room. A picture on the mantelpiece above the fireplace caught his eye, and he almost choked on his cookie. _

_In the picture, Sean Spicer was smiling, his arm around the woman Jack currently shared a table with. She held a baby in her arms, a tiny girl with tufts of bright red hair just beginning to grow. _

_Jack understood everything then. He tried to stave off the knowledge, to think of another explanation, but belief had already taken root deep in his heart._

_The woman saw where he was looking and smiled. _

"_That's my husband Sean and I, a few months after our first girl was born. I'm Kathleen , by the way, but everyone calls me Katie. These are my daughters, Bailey and Brittany. What's your name?"_

_Jack was abruptly dizzy and terrified. How was he going to tell this nice lady that he was her husband's son, that the man she loved had another family and life hidden away? These girls were Jack's half-sisters; could he really make them feel like he did right now?_

"_I'm Jack O'Connor," he croaked, using the first name that came to mind. "I came here looking for my dad."_

_He spent the next hour making up details while Katie alternated between grilling him and encouraging him to eat. He told her he was from Keshcarrigan, a town in one of the adjacent counties, and spun a story about never meeting his dad, only knowing that his name was George O'Connor and he lived in Ardara. His mom hated the man, Jack explained, and never wanted Jack to see him or learn anything of him, so Jack had run away to find him. _

_The three of them were astounded by his story, Katie aghast that he would run away on so little information, the girls impressed by his daring. Their admiration made Jack feel terrible; he felt like he was standing on the verge of ruining their lives, but at the same time absurdly guilty for lying to them. He tried to leave, conscious that his dad could show up any time, but Katie wouldn't let him go. _

"_I don't know why those women at the grocer's sent you here," she said, referencing one of the many lies Jack had told her, "for I don't know any George O'Connor, but I might know someone who does. The least I can do is call around and check, and you can't go wandering through town by yourself anyway."_

_And so she called, dialing up church friends, gal pals, coworkers and family members until Jack wanted to shout with frustration. He managed to hold in his agitation until he heard keys rattling at the door. Katie and Jack jumped up simultaneously, but Katie waved him back down._

"_Sean isn't going to kick you out, dear, and neither will I. We'll help you find your father, don't you worry."_

_Jack started to sweat as he heard Katie greet her husband at the door. What was he going to do? How much trouble was he in? Would his dad be able to hold in his surprise enough to play along with Jack's story?_

" _. . . all the way from Keshcarrigan by himself! Erin said she knows some O'Connors, she's calling them now," Katie was saying as she came back down the hall._

"_Don't worry sweetheart, we can-"_

_Sean entered the kitchen and froze, breaking off mid-sentence, eyes locked on Jack. His arms were full of gift bags and brightly wrapped presents for his wife and daughters. They stared at each other for a long, brittle moment, Jack too terrified to speak and Sean too shocked. It was Katie who broke it, looking from one to the other with a puzzled expression. _

"_What's wrong? Do you know him?"_

_Her question broke Jack's paralysis. _

"_I'm Jack O'Connor, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you."_

_He stood up and held out his hand, hoping to forestall any revealing outbursts. His father shook it once, sharply, then turned to answer Katie. _

"_It's just that he's the spitting image of old Georgie from my golf group."_

"_Sean, that's wonderful! Do you have his number?"_

"_I don't, but I rather think the boy would want to surprise him anyway. Wouldn't you, young man?"_

_His tone was almost pleading. Jack nodded, not sure he could talk around the lump in his throat. _

"_That's settled then. I'll take him down right now and fetch Georgie out of the clubhouse. He's always down there this time of day."_

"_Couldn't you bring him here? They shouldn't have to meet for the first time in public."_

"_They shouldn't have to meet in a stranger's house, either."_

"_But this George, what if he won't . . .if he doesn't . . ."_

_Katie obviously didn't want to finish her sentence in front of Jack. _She's worried my dad won't want me, _he thought._ She has no idea.

"_If he can't take care of the boy for any reason, I'll bring him back with me. I'm taking him, Katie, and that's settled."_

"_You know best."_

_She knelt down to Jack's level again and held out her arms, an invitation to embrace. Jack hesitated a moment before stepping into them. It felt wrong to let this woman who had stolen his father's affection take any of his, but Jack couldn't help it. As Katie hugged him tightly, he let himself imagine what it would be like to live here, in this place where mothers let you help them bake and fathers came home happy. He imagined having sisters to play with, hugs all the time, and a house so small you had to see your family at least once every day. _

"_Goodbye Jack. You come back if things don't work out, okay?"_

_Then Katie let go and Jack was alone again as his father snatched up his backpack and pulled him through the house and out the garage door. Just before the door shut, a cry rang out. _

"_Wait!"_

_It was Bailey, running down the hall after them with Brittany in her wake._

"_Bye Jack! Sorry I was mean about your hair," Bailey told him. _

_Brittany didn't say anything, but she gave him a shy smile and handed him a chocolate-chip biscuit._

"_That's very nice, girls," Sean told them. "Go back inside now."_

_He waited until the door shut behind them, then shoved Jack in the passenger seat of a small blue car and slammed the door. Jack's heart was racing as his father got inside, but Sean said nothing as he hit the garage door opener and drove out. The silence lengthened as they sped down the road, until Jack was shaking with tension._

"_Are you going to tell your mother?"_

_His father's voice was soft and casual, like it didn't really matter either way. Jack wasn't sure what to say. He didn't want to hurt his mom by telling her, any more than he'd wanted to hurt Katie, but he wasn't sure he could hide something like this from her for very long. _

"_Answer me, damnit," Sean roared suddenly. "Are you going to tell your mother or not?"_

_His fist slammed against the dash with a loud crack, and Jack jumped. _

"_No," he whispered. It seemed to be the safest thing to say._

_Sean relaxed, smiling as though he hadn't just yelled at his son._

"_Good. The divorce would be messy. She'd probably get the house and a fair chunk of money, but she burns through that fast. Neither of you would like living without my income. I'll make arrangements for you to get back. I assume you lied about where you were going?"_

"_No. I didn't tell mom I was leaving, I just left."_

"_Even better. I'll tell her you called and asked if you could stay at a friend's house for a while. You'll have to invent a plausible friend. I assume you can do the job adequately, given that crock you fed Katie."_

"_Okay."_

_Sean said nothing else until they got to the airport and didn't so much as glance at his son during the drive. Apparently he wasn't interested in how or why Jack had come to Ireland. _

_Traveling was simpler this time. Jack was still a little boy without a passport, but most airline employees became a lot more accommodating when Sean started waving around checks whose amounts ended in multiple zeros._

"_There will be a car waiting to take you home," Sean told Jack. "If your mother gets suspicious, email me the details of your story and I'll call her."_

_With that he walked away, leaving Jack alone in the terminal with his backpack and a cold chocolate-chip cookie. _

"Did you tell her?"

Chase's voice snapped Jack out of his memories. For a while, he'd lost track of where he was, almost too caught up in the reminiscence to realize he was still telling a story.

"I couldn't. I knew it would kill her, and I didn't have the courage. When I got home, she told me dad had called, and they'd had a long talk about how grown up I was. She wasn't happy that I left without permission, but she and dad agreed that I should have more freedom to go play with my friends and an allowance to go with it."

"A bribe?"

"Not the only one. I never threatened to tell, but it was behind every conversation I had with dad after that. It's how I got the lab, and why neither of them ever asks where I've been."

It was also, Chase surmised, part of the reason such a tongue-tied, manipulative little boy had grown up to be a loud-mouthed, socially awkward teen. Jack probably didn't realize it, but he'd spent the rest of his life subconsciously trying to distance himself from the little boy he'd been. Chase tried to think of something to say, but comfort wasn't his forte, and he wasn't sure what could be said in such a situation.

They continued on in silence for awhile. They'd walked a long way while Jack talked, both too wrapped up in the story to notice cold or fatigue, but now Jack could feel the exertion taking its toll. He rolled his head back, popping his neck, squinting at the bright sunlight that poured down through a hole in the cave ceiling and sparkled on the ice. Something flickered across his vision and Jack squinted harder, forcing his eyes to focus. Something large was coming through the hole, blocking the sunlight and casting moving shadows.

Jack stopped dead.

"Chase, please tell me you see that."

"See what?"

Chase hadn't noticed Jack looking up, and he peered ahead instead, trying to find whatever was alarming his lover.

"I don't see anything. Where-"

"Chase, I think that's Vlad!"

"You see _Dracula_? Jack, have you gone insane?"

"Not Dracula, Vlad! Just look!"

Jack pointed and Chase looked upwards. A man was descending from on high, held up by a harness linked to a rope that went through the ceiling and out of sight. A homely Russian face peered out from inside the deep hood of his parka, its expression thunderstruck.

"Jack? Vot are _you_ doink here?"

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A/N: Some miscellaneous info: The song Jack sings is "The Rocky Road to Dublin," and in my opinion the best version is by The Dubliners. You can find it on YouTube.

19,000 yuan (Chinese currency) equals about $3,000 USD. 3,000 yuan is roughly $500.

Jack's half-sisters are inspired by my nieces (They're my half-sister's daughters. Write what you know). We're not Irish, just of Irish descent, and most of us have brown or black hair, brown eyes and lots of freckles. My oldest neice has paper-white skin, flaming red hair, blue eyes and these huge sproingy curls that every woman we meet just has to touch.


	21. Announcement

Rumor has it all naughty stories will be removed from . In case it's true, I'm letting you know I also have a DeviantArt under TheMsMeep where you can find all my stories.


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